Tidal-Wave
by MrsMellarkkk
Summary: Annie Cresta's journey of romance, insanity and betrayal. From the day she volunteered for her mentally disabled friend at the reaping, to the darkest and deepest depths in to her emotional instability. Very much an Odesta piece. My first fan fiction story, so reviews, negative or positive, are very much appreciated:)
1. Prologue

I wake before dawn of the day of the reaping. Only about an hour or so before my usual time of rising. However today I wish more than anything I was able to force myself in to a deeper sleep, so I would not have time to pay attention to my ever growing anxieties. I know it's unlikely I will be picked, and even if I were to be, someone from the training center would be desperate to volunteer in my place. But I have a knot tightening inside my stomach even so. I think it's just one of those deadly days that make you feel unbearably nervous and nothing you can do seems to be able to calm yourself down, everyone feels it on this day, but we all seem to cope with our dread and anxiety in different ways. My brother, Ivan, for example, spends the morning drinking with his fishing buddies. My mother puts all her energy in to making her children look their best. Distractions. That's the key.

I, however, spend every reaping morning, at the beach. Out of all the districts, I have never once doubted that four is the most lovely, as I cannot imagine how people could live in a place without a calm picturesque beach to visit when they felt miserable. Though I suppose it's often hard to miss something you've never had the chance to experience. For me though, if I was to be moved to another district, or my savior in four were to be banished, I wouldn't not to do with myself when I was feeling a little depressed, especially on days like today. If it wasn't for my this place, I would of lost my mind a long time ago. So, after my waking, I dress in a plain top the color of sea foam, and dark denim pants. My mother would skin me alive if I had decided to wear my reaping dress, which stood proudly in the wardrobe next to the pants. The dress in a hand-me-down from my sister, Marina, whom is much to busty for the thing now. However, it fits me perfectly. It is made from cotton and a green I can only describe as the hue of springtime. On the bodice, discreet fish have been stitched, in order to represent four's industry. It enhances the size of my almost nonexistent breasts by fitting around my chest snugly, has two very thin straps to hold things in to position, and falls to my lower thigh. It is very pretty, but when Mother made me try it on a few weeks before, I remembering thinking I looked a lot younger and weaker than I actually am. Maybe that's the idea. Careful not to wake my sisters, I grab my backpack and leave things behind for a little while.

The contents of my pack includes some scraps I have been attempting to transform in to fishhooks for my Father and brother, the quilt I am sewing my sisters as a reaping present, along with the equipment required to do this, and my own reaping presents, a large piece of bakery bread from my mother and father, and a necklace formed from oyster pearls from my siblings. We always get every child in our family a present on reaping day, I guess it's a pretty feeble attempt to try and bring a little optimism to the occasion, but I've always found it kind of nice. Me, Marina and my younger sister Eden are the ones required to participate this year. Ivan finished having to endure this torture earlier this year when he turned nineteen. Marina only has a year left after today and I have two, whereas poor Eden has to live in fear of being sent to the arena for another five years prior to this day. She is almost hysterical because of the unwelcome butterflies swimming in her stomach, it is only her second reaping and we had to give in and each sign up for tessera several times this year, so of course this adds to her panic. But my family have been doing there best to reassure her. "If you get called, Annie or me will volunteer in your place anyway, so stop feeling sorry for yourself already!" Marina has been telling her for years. "Speak for yourself!" I would often mock, but of course I didn't really mean it. If Marina was reaped, I had always been certain she could make it, she's pretty and healthy and athletic, but it was obvious Eden never would. Thirteen years old and still terrified of the most silly things; the dark, animals and wading in to the sea to deep and drowning. Things that were very unlikely to possibly hurt her, not with three fiercely protective elder siblings to look out for her. So you can imagine how terrified my cowardly little sister would be feeling today of all days. In an attempt to brighten her up, I make a start on the quilt. I had saved for an expensive and rare aquamarine velvet from the market, and had already sewed thick sheets securely inside. All to do now was the final decorations, possibly the most difficult part. At first I thought I'd mirror the little fishes on my reaping dress, but I decided Marina would find this rather childish, so I came up with the idea of stitching lines of fish hooks instead. Its delicate work, even for an experienced seamstress such as myself, but I manage to go at a fast enough pace. I let my thoughts roam my brain freely as I stitch, this being the only place I feel it safe to do so. With the fresh ocean breeze tainting my cheeks rose and the powerful salty aroma entering my nostrils, I feel about as safe as I ever think is possible for a citizen of Panem. I realize whilst freeing myself, that I am not frightened for myself but for everybody else and I wonder if this makes me a kind person or simply a stupid one. The thing is, I am not afraid of death. I haven't been for a long time. I'm not _depressed_ or anything, I am pretty content with my life, and am more than aware most of the other districts are a lot worse off than myself. It's just difficult for me to be frightful of escaping a nation so consumed by poison and hatred. The discovery confuses me. I shouldn't be so relaxed about the prospect of being sent to my death in the arena. It's not that I _want_ to die, in fact, I very much would like the chance to stay alive and reach my full potential, it's just that I would prefer myself to be reaped over somebody who is so desperate to _live_. I think about this for almost another hour, the time in which it takes to finish the quilt, and come to the conclusion that I am probably just thinking in this way because I am not expecting to be in such a position. I have pushed the fear so far to the back of my mind, I have convinced myself it has disappeared, when it most likely has not. Telling myself this puts me at ease again, so I fold up the garment I have been stitching and place it in my backpack, leaving out my thread and removing the scrap.

At that moment, I hear a familiar delighted squeal from behind. Ava-Marie. "Annnnnnnnie! Do you like my dress, mummy made me a new one specialy!" She gives me a flamboyant twirl and a hopeful grin.

"It's beautiful Ava-Marie, are you sure you want to be in it so early though, don't want to ruin it now do we?"

"I'm not going to ruin it! Mummy told me it was okay as long as I'm careful."

"Then you better be. The reaping's not for another few hours yet!"

"Are you scared, Annie?"

"What of?" Like I didn't know.

"Being sent to the arena of course! I am soooooooo scared my name will be called by that funny lady this year, I had a very horrible dream about it last night."

"You won't be picked Ava-Marie, I promise. Everybody adores you too much."

"Yeah. What are you doing Annie?"

"Making fish hooks.

" "Can I try?"

"I'm afraid not, most of the scraps are very sharp. Why don't you take a paddle?"

"No! I will ruin my dress!" She says indicating with her pudgy hand at her ankle length outfit. Made of lilac cotton it looks soft and gentle against her large frame. " Keep talking to me then instead." I offer, patting the warm sand beside my rear. "Okay!" She accepts happily, removing her sandals and digging her toes in to the sand. We've been close for years, Ava and I. Our mothers were good friends whilst they were pregnant with us both, and so were our fathers before hers died a few months after she was born. A boating accident, apparently. I feel for her mother, a tired looking middle aged woman named Anya, but I try not pity her as I know she despises that. You see, Ava isn't like the rest of the kids in four. She has a mental disability of some sort, and Anya had never had the money to collect any more information than this. Even though she is sixteen as am I, she behaves more like a slowly developing six year old. I adore her though, as do most people, she is seen as a sort of pet around town, even though I am aware how awful this might sound. You can always rely on her to be grinning or chuckling or in a haze of excitement about something or other, no matter what the circumstance. Which is why the nightmare she recalled took me by such surprise, if the reaping could have such an impact on someone as slow as poor Ava, surely the whole thing is the exact opposite to morality. Suddenly hit by the vision of my reliable sunny friend being scared to death is to much for me to cope with, I give in to my attempts of restraint and pull my companion in to a tight hug. Ava-Marie gets very overwhelmed about any sort of physical affection towards her, so caught up in the excitement of the moment, she whispers in to my ear "I love you, my Annie. You are my bestest friend. I love you _soooooo_ much!" She will not let go, and I do not press her to. Not because I feel sympathetic towards her, quite the opposite in fact, but because I knew how happy it was making her. I wished I was Ava Marie for about the trillionth time in my life, having the ability to feel true happiness from an act as typical as an embrace.

Me and Ava Marie sit on the beach talking about things that made her happy until it was time for me to ready myself. Hair ribbons and puppies and flowers. Hugs and picture books and snow. I don't invite her back to our house, but as usual, she accepts what seems to be a telepathic invitation and trails along behind me. My father is one of the most successful fisherman in the district, so our apartment is fairly large in comparison to our neighbors. It located above the small shop my Mother runs selling my father's fish, a variety of bait and the odd piece of essential fishing equipment. Occasionally, if Marina and I find anything rare or interesting whilst illegally hunting for crab-meat and fish on the beach, she puts that up for sale too. The shop doesn't make nearly enough money as my parents had hoped for, but it helps decrease the need for more food, therefore it decreases the likelihood of me and my sisters having to sign up for a large amount of tessera. Marina is tending to the shop when Ava Marie and I enter, wearing a powder blue blouse and an irritated scowl. "Where the hell have you been all morning? We had to close the shop because we had nobody to watch the till!" Ava Marie pads over to my sister and gives her a tight hug, in which my sister responds with a harsh swat on the poor girls head. "Where I always am. Making _your_ gift, may I add. And don't be cruel to Ava, you witch." My sister treats us to one of her infamous eye rolls. "Whatever. Mother's helping Eden ready and I suspect they're almost finished by now so you better hurry." Hurrying up the stairs and leaving Ava Marie to play with the Eden's cat, a jittery absent minded creature named Basil, in the front room, I make my way to the bathroom opposite. As I expected, a metallic tub of dirty water is positioned in the center of the bare floorboards. Removing my clothes and under garments, I brace myself for the bitter chill that is highly likely to race up my spine as I position myself in the water. I am not disappointed. Though the water is dirt ridden and freezing, I still feel at home. I have not mentioned this yet, but in my spare time, when I am not sewing or fashioning fish hooks at the beach, I am embracing the ocean that lays before it. Water, for me, is the most lovely thing. Slick silky liquid that has the power to either to destroy you or to make you feel infinite. I have always known my passion and talent for swimming in the solution was down to more than the fact I was born in Panem's fishing district. It's in my blood, I suppose. However I cannot sit and enjoy my bath as I usually am able to. It is fast approaching half past one, which is the time everybody is to start making their way to the square, and I haven't even dressed myself yet, let alone done something with my hair. After massaging sweet smelling moisture's in to my hair and body, I remove myself from the tub as quickly as I'd entered it. Slipping in to the robe I shared with Marina, almost always slung somewhere on the floor in the bathroom, I plod along to my bedroom. Mother is there, putting the last pins in to secure Eden's complicated hair style. "Hey." I say, starting to slip on some tan underwear I had just retrieved from a draw. "You're late. You're usually always home before half past twelve."

"I know, sorry. I bumped in to Ava Marie."

"To late to apologise now. Just get a move on, will you? We have to leave in ten minutes. Is Ava here now?"

"Yes, she followed me home. I felt bad telling her to leave me alone."

"Well she cannot stay, Anya will be worried. Walk her home, will you, Eden dear?" With an anxious nod my little sister exits the room to collect Ava. I pull my green dress over my damp body and stare at myself in the wooden mirror positioned at the other side of the room. The girl staring back at me looks vulnerable and feminine, youthful but spineless. I do not know how I feel about this. "You look perfect, Annie." My mother mumbles, not meeting my eyes. It's only now I realize they are almost the exact same shade as my outfit. "Thank you, Mother. Will you do something with my hair?" She fashions my wild dark mane in to a simple ponytail behind my head, and rests her hands on my shoulders. "You've always been the prettiest, Annie. A real beauty. Don't tell the others I said that though." Then she exits the room with tears streaming down her face, as she does every year. I would feel flattered, but I know she has paid Marina and Eden the exact same compliment, of something similar, just minutes before. It's her way of apologizing, I think, for having brought us up in a place that tortures innocent children every year.

Ivan is in the front room when I enter, and from the stench coming from his direction it is obvious he is intoxicated. He has done this to himself every reaping day since his fourteenth birthday, so it's not like I am shocked. My mother used to worry about him becoming a drunkard, but he is fairly sensible throughout the rest of the year, so she decided to let him be. Ivan is the exact opposite of most of the wealthiest young men in our district, who are broad shouldered with a golden or sandy blonde complexion . With ribs showing prominently through his fisherman's smock and his hair even darker than my own, people often mistook him for being an valley child instead of one belonging to a respectable merchant family. My mother was brought up by her father in the poorest parts of the district, which have been referred to as the vallies for as long as I can remember. Therefore, Ivan and I stick out like a sore thumb compared to our fellow merchant children, inheriting mothers chestnut hair and grassy eyes. Marina, who has the appearance of both a merchant and a valley child, with her faded amber hair and eyes in a shocking shade of turquoise, is petting Basil and groaning about something trivial. My father must be meeting us there. Eden, who looks as fair and bright eyed as any merchant child I have ever saw, is not yet back from delivering Ava, so we suspect that's her idea too. Shutting up the shop and switching off the lights, we dispatch from the apartment, in to the great unknown.


	2. The Reaping

Our family is one of the last to arrive at the front of fours justice building, which isn't at all out of the ordinary. My mother is almost obsessive about how smart we must look on reaping day, so she spends at least twenty minutes more than most mothers would fussing over me and my sisters appearances. Like I said, I think it helps her cope with whole situation a lot better, so we've never complained. The queue stretching from the grounds of the justice building to the opening of the square is insanely huge, I have no idea how the peace keepers are going to prick all these trembling fingers in time for two o'clock, but somehow they manage it, as they always do. The scene I find myself in is all so familiar, and this saddens me. The faces surrounding me are numb and emotionless to the fact that in less than an hour, their child, neighbor or simply a young person they are particularly fond of could be given a death sentence. It's disgusting, but of course, such views about such matters cannot be expressed. So we force ourselves to get used to it, to _embrace _it even, by setting up the training camps and often volunteering ourselves. I suppose four has a better chance than most, being a typical career district, but I still can't condone this monstrous event. Needless to say, reaping day is by far the day of the year I loathe the most.

For once Marina and I are not the last to have our blood taken. Behind me stands a girl who often hangs on the edge of my friendship group at the school. Coral Capone. She's a strange child, a little bit of an eccentric one the teachers say, but she's harmless enough and very funny in a sort of sarcastic way. Her dress is the exact same shade as the sea plant in which she was named after, and so are her eyes which made it obvious to me she'd been crying not long before she'd arrived. She didn't seem the sort to burst in to tears at anything, even the reaping, she was more likely to make a snarky comment or clever joke about the event, which I guess I always assumed she always, had done. But today there is no doubt the poor girl is terrified. "Coral? Hey. You okay?" Another thing about old Coral is that she never, ever lies. She is the most honest person I have ever met, which has got her into trouble quite a lot in the past, and is the reason she's never been fully excepted in to my group of school friends, she's simply not bitchy enough. "No. I'm not. Are you?" She lowers her head as if to protect herself from something. "As much as I can be, due to the circumstances. How many times are you in this year?"

"27. Remember how we had to close the shop for a while? Having no income for three months complicated things. We wouldn't usually but times were hard for a while, to say the least." Coral's mother, a petite woman with ivory hair reaching her waist, owns the only shop for gift and luxurious items in the district. When I was an infant, my father had told me there was cafe, and of course the Appleton's famous sweet shop, but apart from that, Ms Capone's little business was the only residents have on offer. It sells candles, dear little ornaments, paintings and soaps among many other things. In fact, it had been the very place I had brought the sheets that now lye inside of my sisters quilt. At the start of the year, a small fire set off by some incorrectly lit candles attacked the shop. It didn't do all to much damage, but did ruin a substantial amount of valuable and expensive stock. "Is that why you're not okay?" I know I shouldn't persist. I shouldn't try and force her to open up to me about her fears for today, but talking with her seems to be taking my mind off things. "No."

"You can tell me what is, you know, if you want. I won't tell anybody." I promise her trying to reflect a look of trust in my features.

"My brother, he is eighteen this year and determined to volunteer, nothing mother and I say can seem to change his mind." Noah Capone. Everyone knows him, after Finnick Odair he is probably the most desirable boy in the district. I often think this is why my girlfriends let Coral tag along with them, in hope one day she'll introduce them to who they _really_ want to be socializing with. I, however, think Noah seems nice enough and is incredibly handsome, but I find idolizing him petty and sad. Everyone knew he'd been training for the games since he was young, and now at eighteen, he only had one last chance to be a tribute. Toned and charming, there's no doubt he would stand a good shot, but I knew if it were Ivan intent on going in to the arena, I would be bawling my eyes out too. "I'm so sorry Coral." She gives me a casual shrug and wipes her dress. "Do you think any girls will volunteer this year?" I ask, quickly attempting to change the conversation. "Maybe. I'm not sure though, Noah told me the centers pretty short on girls this year, especially ones that have an actual chance of winning." I nod solemnly and then we stand together in an awkward silence until we reach the peace keepers.

Sucking on my injured pinkie, I scan the crowd behind me for Eden. Sure enough there she is, in the dress my mother made from her old silk blanket. She used to rub her face with in times in which she longed for comfort, so mother thought maybe it'd give her a little more courage for days such as today. I don't think any of us will ever be able to muster up enough courage to cope with today efficiently. Not really. No matter how we try to hide and murder the fear. It's always there, it doesn't matter how deep you have buried it. I smile at my sister, who looks like she is on the verge of tears, and give her a friendly little wave. I can tell she is to paralyzed with fear to communicate back to me. Further down the row I spot Ava Marie, staring gormlessly in to space, her distorted features highlighted in the summer sunshine. In front of me, I am able to make out the back of my sisters skull, blanketed in wavy auburn locks. I say a silent prayer for them all, and all the other undeserving girls I know surrounding me, despite the fact I stopped believing in God a long time ago.

Florrie Forde has been district four's escort for as long as I can remember. She must be middle aged by now, although she'd most likely faint if you told her this prediction. With an attractive curvy figure and skin tinted lavender, in the eyes of the Capitol viewers she is one of the most glamorous escorts out there. And doesn't she know it. This year, her elaborately styled hair is dyed the most vibrant hue's it's ever been. Throughout the years she's experimented with sunset orange, custard yellow, exotic shades of turquoise, among others, but none quite lives up to the shocking tone of pea green she fashions this year. She is wearing a dress that I've learnt, by watching various Capitol broadcasts, are all the trend out in this world of Panem's most privileged. A 'cocktail' dress, I think. In a blinding and slightly tacky gold, all topped off with outrageously high crimson stiletto's. To Florrie's credit, she gave us a few moments to take in the absurd creature that totters before us, and then, she begins.

"Welcome, welcome!" She flashes an overly-rehearsed beam at the crowd. "I'd like to thank Mayor Woodward for that_ fabulous_ introduction!" Our last mayor, Mayor Shaw was killed in a boating accident around this time last year. Woodward was new to the job, and you can tell he was only really appointed because of his eye for detail and strong beliefs in discipline. Needless to say, since he had gotten the job, district four did not gain anything, the exact opposite in fact. At least Shaw had a sense of humor, at least he was proud of his position. Woodward just seems to be in it for the satisfaction he gets watching the innocent suffer, or the money, of course. He rarely speaks more than a few syllables to the people he is responsible for, so obviously the speech was very brief and blunt. Florrie knows this, of course, but as usual she is just repeating from a script she has memorized over the several years of being an escort here. "Now before we begin… I bring you a short film…all the way from the Capitol itself!" Cue the repetitive propaganda about why the games were put in to motion. "How_ fabulous_" She exclaims in that hideous Capitol accent. "Now, we must begin! As always…ladies first!" I've always found it scary how excited she is about sending two vulnerable children to an arena. It disgusts me, but it depresses me more, that they are so oblivious to what their precious Capitol put us through. It's not like it's their fault, it's how they were raised, to be enthusiastic and naive about the games, but its ridiculously difficult to have to witness, even if it is only once a year. These thoughts of annoyance and rage are racing through my head as Florrie's perfectly manicured hands choose a slip from the bowl of female tributes. As she trots back over to the podium and announces one unlucky girl's fate. "The female tribute for district 4 in the 70th hunger games is…Ava Marie Kell!"

Ava Marie doesn't just act different to the other possible tributes, but she looks different too. She's about the height of a ten year old, with a flat head and low muscle tone. Her cheeks are as flat as dinner plates and her eyes are just two lopsided slits. It takes her a while to be brought back to earth, I don't even think she was paying any attention, she often zones out of things, even things of such importance as the reaping. When she notices the thousands of unblinking eyes fixed on her though, she releases a loud wail. She does not stop, pushing through the crowd searching desperately for Anya, hysterical with confusion and misunderstanding. "I volunteer as tribute." I say it quietly at first, as if it was simply a powerful though that had been strong enough to race from my brain to my mouth. "I volunteer as tribute!" I practically scream as Ava Marie is being dragged from the crowd violently by about a dozen peace keepers. Ava Marie falls to the ground as the guards let go their grasp, curling in a ball to shield herself from the nightmare that had become reality. "Annie, no, no!" Eden cries from somewhere behind me. But it's too late. I am going to the arena.


	3. Saying Goodbye

I'm sitting in a plush room in the justice building, eyes fixed on a chip in the paint of the wall that faces me. Behind me, is the window. I cannot bare to look out from it, at all that I am leaving behind. The daylight is scorching my neck a little too harshly, but its strangely soothing. Focusing on that chip in the paintwork, feeling the sunlight searing through my dress and on to my bare flesh, I cannot think of a more sufficient place to grieve for the life I have just given away.

After I volunteered, I entered a state of panic. I did not think before I spoke, which is peculiar for me as I've always been quite sensible with words, my mother says. But how could I let them put her in there? A poor disordered soul, who would not even make it past the cannon that, signals the beginning of the games. I couldn't just stand by and watch them torture her. No one else was going to volunteer, everyone else was willing just to watch her be slaughtered. Probably thinking the games were doing us a favour, getting rid of somebody viewed as so vulnerable and incapable. The monsters, the lot of them. I made best efforts not to maintain eye contact when I approach the stage surrounded by a squad of peace keepers. They do not deserve my acknowledgment. Forcing my shaking body to stand securely next to Florrie's vibrant figure and try to remember how to breathe. Suddenly, I feel a strong hand rest on my shoulder. Whipping round in shock, I take in the hotness of Finnick Odair up close and personal. I had not even noticed him, sitting in a seat next to the mayor, nodding and grinning in all the right places. "Congratulations Annie." I can't even be rude to him about congratulating me, I mean, I'm a sixteen year old girl for goodness sake, and I do get pretty smitten over guys, especially guys as magnificent as Finnick. Both his hair and body are a matt bronze complexion, and his eyes gleam the same glow as the dress I have suddenly stopped shivering in. I quickly try and snap myself out of this daze, that obviously my vulnerable state had brought on, and give him a shy smile. "Thanks." I squeak awkwardly.

A twelve year old boy, I think my sister used to play with at the valley beach, is reaped. As Coral predicted, Noah Canopy volunteers to take his place. Lean and brawny, he proudly makes his way to join me on stage. He is grinning from ear to ear. I wonder what has made him so determined to be a tribute. Pride? Fame? Money? I don't know. All I know is Noah is unlike all the other arrogant wannabe victors that roam the district. He presents himself as thoughtful and smart, from the tales that flutter through town, and I'm having a tough time working out why he desires to be an experienced ruthless killer. Finnick congratulates my opponent in the same charming manor he addressed me, but this time giving the able-bodied eighteen year old a friendly slap on the shoulder. I guess he thought me to frail and shaken up to be able to take anything more than a gentle shoulder squeeze.

A gush of even more sunlight floods the room, and I dispatch my vision from the wall long enough to be greeted by my mother, Marina and Ivan. Their faces try to remain sober and self-composed but I can see in their eyes how broken and hopeless they are feeling, and I can understand, because I am being consumed by the exact same emotions. "Annie…you…oh my god…" My mother is the first to crack, collapsing on to her knees and sobbing in a similar way to which Ava Marie did. Marina comes over and flings her arms around me, securing me in a tight grip. She is not sobbing like my mother, but I predict she is not far off. Its strange, being embraced by Marina. She is in no way the affectionate type, despite having dated half the town's population of teenage boys. She loathes sympathy and sentimental mannerisms, so when she devours me with one of the most loving gesture known to man, I know things must be pretty bad for her right now. Ivan is comforting my Mother, who is still on her knee's shaking and crying, creating soothing circles on the small of her back, but the whole time his eyes are trained on me. "You can do it, Annie. You can win." He whispers, slowly and uncertainly, as if I am the one trying to convince him. "He's right. You're clever. You can make a decent fish hook out of anything and have the most creative ideas and…" "I'll try but…you need to be realistic." I tell them. Which is basically code for, you need to begin grieving for me now. Marina is crying now, salty water splashing my bare back and her snot ridden face buried in my neck. My mother is gently rocking herself back and forth like a mad woman. Ivan will not stop looking at me. Seeing my family like this is not helping my state of mind one tiny bit. "Where's father? And Eden?" I ask, hoping they won't be as draining and painful to cope with. "They're going to come in after. Anya's going to bring up Ava as well…and a couple of girls from the school want to…want to…wish you luck…" Marina is stuttering.

"Ava and Anya can come up, as can Daddy and Eden. But I don't think I can deal with the girls." I instruct. Marina nods in to my back. "Okay, I'll tell them they wouldn't let you have any more visitors." I pull her off me and give her a thankful smile. Then I approach my deranged Mother, still trembling on the justice building floor. "Mommy?" I whisper, bending down to stroke her hair off her face, like she had always done for me when I was in distress over something. "I'm going to be okay. I'm going to try and win for you, I promise." I have to be strong. I have to stay calm and collected until I am forced on to that train. For their sakes. "I know you are, baby. It's just a shock." She whispers, painting a sad smile on her grief stricken face. "You'll be okay Annie, I know you will be. You can do it." Ivan repeats in his unconvincing tone. He looks dazed and disoriented but I decide not to bring it up. "Of course I can. I can be pretty smart when I want to be, you know." I joke, trying to show I'm optimistic and confident when inside I'm desperate for them all to wrap me in their arms and promise me everything's going to be okay.

My Father and Eden's visit is brief and predictable. My little sister is consumed by nativity, speaking thoughtfully with a sense of determinedness leaking out of her words. Father is standing in the corner of the room with a solemn and disappointed look smeared across his face. Forcing a reassuring a smile, which defeats the object of him trying to comfort me, I can see right through him. He is trying to stay anchored and fearless as am I, but I seem to be doing a much more sufficient job. "When you come home, Annie, we will throw you the biggest most brilliant party. We'll get one of those posh houses and you'll never be put in that stupid reaping ball ever again! It's going to be…_fabulous_" She bursts in to a fit of hysterical laughter at her mediocre attempt at humor that quickly transforms in to a heavy shower of teardrops. I hug her, whisper her words of comfort and encouragement, of optimism and confidence, I whisper to her what I know she wants me to whisper. What she needs me to whisper. Then I turn to my Father. Thinking back to his appearance I had taken in yesterday night at dinner, a stocky, clean cut and handsome man, Fathers appearance shocks me about as much as my earlier unexpected surprise. Rows of depressing wrinkles tattoo his forehead and cheeks, and the light in his ocean blue eyes seem to have been switched off. His usually outstanding posture resembles how a beggar or drunkard would present himself, slumping in to himself and leaving the rest of the world behind. I do not tell my Father this. I don't see any reason to; it will only risk him having negative memories of me. Instead, I kiss his crumpled cheek and wrap him in a tight embrace, until the peace keepers tell them they have to leave.

Ava Marie looks the most saddened I have ever witnessed from her optimistic self. Her face is gashed from the violent behaviour of the guards, and seems to be stripped of a certain shine that glows beneath her flesh. Even so, when she catches sight of me, the glow flickers back to life for a moment. "My Annie." She lets out. Despite her nonintellectual nature and childlike manor, it is obvious she understands a relative amount of what is going on. She runs to me and we hang on to each other, sobbing and listening to her calls for me for a while, and then I detach myself from her. "I love you Ava, you remember that, okay?" Don't you dare let anybody tell you otherwise. Don't you dare let anyone tell you you're not beautiful. Because you always will be to me." I'm proud of myself. I do not resort to tears again, even though it would be acceptable to, because its only Ava and she doesn't mind if you don't feel like pretending to be alright any longer. I look in to her eyes, a whirlpool of glacier blue, and I tell her what I want I want her to know. "Are you scared?" She asks me, with a serious but bewildered expression on her face. "No." I joke. Though I think even she suspects that I am lying. We embrace once more, and then our time is up. As Anya pulls her distressed daughter away from me, she gives me a look mixed with sympathy, relief and utter gratefulness all at the same time. "Thank you, so much." Her lips mouth to me. I give her a knowing nod.

I am collected by the largest squad of peace keepers I have ever seen, just minutes after the Kell's departure. I have never felt so trapped and isolated from my outer world, so closed in on myself, so dreadfully alone. Even when the squad disappears and I am being driven to the station, sandwiched in between Noah and Florrie, this feeling does not subside. I have never ridden in a method of transportation other than a boat or the occasional tram before, and as our escort points out to us, it is defiantly a thing we should be savoring every single moment of. However, I find myself unable of this task. Before I know it, we have arrived at district fours train station. Crowds of my former neighbors and acquaintances are lapping the platform, several large camera's focused closely on just Noah and I, yet still that pain searing in the pit of my stomach is not banished. I have a feeling I will not be rid of it anytime in the near future.

The carriage we enter first is made evident that it is to be of the most importance to us. Sparkling chandeliers hang in a long row above our heads. Couches draped in velvet the shade of sunset orange, a hue I note is probably even more rare to find in this material in the districts than the aquamarine I had discovered. The carpet is as white as a blanket of winter snow, and behind the lounging area several tables are piled stock high with luxurious food. Finnick has already settled himself down on to the velvet, sipping what smells like an alcoholic beverage of sorts, and admiring his nail bed with a worrying amount of concentration. I let out a soft sigh. How foolish I had been, acting smitten and mesmerized by his charm and good looks, when everybody in four knows what a self-absorbed snob he is. Always coming and going to and from the Capitol, fashioning a new lover every other week, presenting himself as if he was superior to us. Which of course, he is, but it doesn't hurt to show a little modesty from time to time. Never-less, when he sense our approaching he glances over his shoulder and blesses us with his award winning toothy smile. I am being sarcastic, of course. It's a rather attractive grin, but nowhere near as much as he has convinced himself. The more time I am being forced to spend in his presence, the more I am starting to loathe everything about Finnick Odair. Ditto with the rest of my 'team'. Obviously I'd never been fond of Florrie. I'd never _despised_ her, but she had caused great irritation to me for as long as I can remember. However, after having spent just half an hour in her company, I am almost certain she is my least favorite person in the entire world. Except maybe President Snow, who is responsible for my having to socialize with her in the first place. She does not _stop _complimenting and bragging about herself, exclaiming how thankful we should be for an opportunity that is such a rarity. On top of that, she will not quit flirting with Finnick. Not that he isn't milking the situation for all its worth, but really, it's tragic. Me and Noah throw disgusted looks in each other's direction frequently. It surprises me that he is making an effort to be friendly as in a week he may have to kill me. But he is, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Me and Noah spend the last couple of hours before dinner time in a spacey room located at the tail of the train. Instead of walls, we are surrounded by windows, giving us one last chance to soak up as much as we can about our past lives. A sofa the same blue as Ava's eyes is facing towards the back window, and this is where we position ourselves. Still we have not spoken a word to each other. Since entering the train all our communication has been through sighs and facial expressions, in fact he did not even ask me outright if I wanted to sit with him here, he just indicated towards the door and dressed himself in a curious expression. I know we will have to address each other verbally at some point, so I decide to break the ice. "Your sister, she hangs round with me and my friends sometimes, you know, at the school." Noah seems startled by the steady tone of my voice interrupting the silence. "Yeah, she's mentioned you a few times. Annie Cresta, right?" I answer with a feeble nod."She says you're a nice girl. Sensible and overly thoughtful, but nice. She tells me the rest of them are catty as hell." I am shocked. I never knew that is what Coral had thought of me, the two of us spoke often enough but never about things that held so much depth. "She's funny, your sister. She makes everybody laugh, even the cattiest of the girls."

"She certainly wasn't laughing this morning. She was in danger of flooding the god damn apartment."

"I know, I spoke to her about it whilst we were waiting to have blood taken."

"And what did she say?"

"She didn't want you to volunteer. She was frightened."

"I had to. She knew that." Noah speaks this sentence with such a terrifying bout of confidence and sincerity I do not know how to reply. So I just nod and telepathically end the conversation. "I'm not going to kill you, you know." He releases this words in such a gentle tone I almost convince myself I had imagined them. But I hadn't. "I don't want to kill anybody, not if I can help it. Especially not you, not someone so…so… close to home." His tone is steady and sober, yet consumed with grief and sadness. It scares me. So again, I move my head up and down and try to maintain as little eye contact as I can get away with. Then the conversation ends for definite.


	4. Finding Relief

Dear Readers

In this chapter, I launch an unexpected twist in Annie's tale. Overwhelmed by the situation she has found herself in, Annie takes to self injury in a desperate act to release the emotions she is harbouring inside of her. I decided to write about such a controversial topic as I believe it is a realistic way a child being sent in to the arena would channel their anger and sadness. Another reason behind this choice is, after having personal experience with the topic myself, I believe the issue should be written about from the point of view from someone who knows what it is like to turn to such a disastrous way of self destruction. I feel I will be able to give you all an accurate insight in to the world of someone who chooses to cut, burn, or bruise themselves in an attempt to relieve their emotional pain. However, before I start, I would like to make it very clear in no way is this chapter attempting to glamorise self injury or any mental health disorder in any way whatsoever. If you feel like this chapter could possibly be triggering to you as you are vulnerable to picking up advice from this chapter or you are in recovery from self harm, I urge you to skip this chapter. I hope that anybody who may come to read this doesn't feel like I am taking the spotlight away from the real theme of the hunger games, action and science fiction, but I am genially just trying to dig a little deeper in to the mindsets of the tributes and am attempting to put my own personal spin on the novel, as well as hoping to raise awareness and acknowledgment of the ever growing issue in youth nationwide.

Thank you, I hope you enjoy the chapter c:

Love Lauren xxxx

Its iron surface reflecting the glow that illuminates the bathroom, sharp and precise corners, the rectangular shape it has been molded in to. Perfect. I know it is insane to think a rusty piece of metal as anything more than a useful invention, but I have been brainwashed by the temptation of a release. It seems so powerful, so capable of inflicting so much damage, if controlled in the correct way, in the correct hands. My hands. It can't be much past midnight. Florrie explained to Noah and that as district four is located so close to the Capitol we will arrive in the early hours of the morning. But it is definitely past midnight. I don't know how I can tell, intuition, I guess. The train has that eerie mysterious atmosphere I have encountered many times at home, when interrupted from my dreams due to bladder requirements and having to tip toe across the hall, surrounded by a both creepy and peaceful silence. I have always loved these hours of the day more than the others. The very first few hours, filled with the more promise and hope than all the hours that follow them as the day is still practically brand new. I estimate it to be around one am. The perfect time to venture from my chambers and relieve myself from the terror filled nightmares that have been continually waking me throughout my slumber. I am sure nobody else is likely to be awake. These people that have now become the closest I will ever again have to a family are to strong and to safe to have their rest interrupted.

I check Noah's bathroom first. I know he is unlikely to have been given a razor, for the obvious reason I have not been equipped with one, wouldn't want any of the Capitols precious tributes to try and get themselves killed before the games even begin, do we? But still, his chambers are located directly next door to mine, whereas Finnick's is much further away, so I decide it is worth a shot. Attempting to muffle my footsteps and breathing as much as I can manage, I gently pull open the door to where I stand and slip in to my opponents bedroom. As I suspected, he is sleeping soundly, snoring softly and breathing heavily. I don't understand how shutting out our now lethal reality is such an uncomplicated task for him, and the very idea that he was able to drift off without any struggle pours red hot anger in to my veins. I know I will not feel bad about stealing from him. It doesn't matter that he is Coral's brother. That he is the closest I will ever have again to home. That he promised he would not kill me, that he complimented me and at dinner he comforted me when the rich and over filling Capitol food was to much for my inexperienced stomach, and I threw up on to one of our servers. Florrie tutted and Finnick laughed but Noah took pity on me, patting my back awkwardly and helping the Capitol employees mop me up. All that does not matter to me anymore. At the end of the day, he is just another tribute. Just another person I will have to kill or watch be killed or refrain from saving if I ever want to return home to be reunited with my family. I realize I cannot afford to think of Noah as anything more than that. It should sadden me, but it does not, because for the first time since this whole nightmare began I am certain of something.

I was right about my theory. Tip toeing past a sleep bound Noah and entering his en suite bathroom, I can see immediately the toiletries he has been supplied with are even more limited than my own selection. A bottle of toothpaste and a toothbrush lying lopsided on the sink, a shower cap the same hue as his sister's namesake. A hairbrush balancing on the seat of a toilet. Determined not to give up without a respectable search, I have a vague hunt around both rooms for any sort of bag or draw that may stash what I am looking for. Nothing. I leave unsatisfied and anxious that I will not have the resources I need to pour out my sorrows. But I know, deep down, Finnick obtaining a shaver is highly likely. That guy is always so cleanly cut and moisturized, I bet he has every beauty product and accessorie under the sun to maintain his perfect Capitol adored image. And I am right. For some unknown reason, Finnick is not yet in bed. This worries me somewhat, what would he do if he caught me going through his personal belongings? But then I realise, there's nothing he really could do to me except let me down in the games, and I am fairly certain I will probably manage to do that without his assistance. So I stride right in. Due to some magnificent stroke of luck, the razor is already in my sight, balancing on the sink along with a toothbrush and a thin comb. Only Finnick Odair would bother to shave before he turns in for the night, I think to myself. However, strangely this irritating quality he possesses has seemed to work to my advantage. After reaching over to claim my prize, I pull my knee's up to my chin and begin disabling the plastic from the cool smooth metal mould. Just like I had the time before I had felt what I was intending to do necessary.

It was the autumn of my fourteenth birthday and my father had fallen dangerously ill. Oblivious to the consequences, one day he caught a fish that evidently caused serve stomach poisoning to anybody who may consume it. Fortunately I was having my supper with Ava Marie and Anya that evening, and Marina was being fed by her current boyfriend's family. Only Ivan, mother, Eden and my father were to be fed that night, and everybody was rather excited about the meal as the fish my father had caught seemed a rather magnificent and rare find. However, it turns out, for all the wrong reasons. Within less than an hour all four of them were vomiting violently and had lost control of their bowel. When me and Marina arrived home a couple of hours later, the whole house was consumed with the foul aroma of foetus mixed with vomit. After a few days, the effects of the poisonous fish seemed to be wearing off on my brother and sister, and my Mother, who had apparently only ate a very small portion, was well enough by this point to care for her children and husband as sufficiently as Marina and I were. However, my father's condition only seemed to worsen. We were fortunate enough to be able to afford a little medicine to keep him stable, if we were not my mother tells us she was sure we would of lost him. In return for this though, we had hardly any money to spare for food or other necessities, leading to my siblings and I having to sign up for tessera on numerous occasions. On top of that, us children were responsible for the fishing and the trading my father took care of before his illness. Every afternoon after school we would be hard at work, trying to scrape together something, anything, that could improve our family's situation in the slightest of ways. It was dreadful. Ivan, Marina and I often had to skip school in order to collect enough fish and edible sea plants to feed the six of us, were wandering the streets at the darkest and coldest hour of evenings selling our spare findings in order to pay for soap and cotton. This went on for three months. By the time June had come around and the reaping was scheduled, father was so ill the peace keepers even allowed him to not be present, a privilege only allowed to those on their death bed. The district healer started giving us advice and diagnosis's free of charge. A certain sign the end was near. Apparently, the poison was just refusing to evacuate from my Father's body. For what she believed was a reasonable price, she gave us several different remedies to try but not one presented the slightest sign of progress. By September, we had all pretty much lost all hope for my father's recovery. Mother and Ivan had secretly started looking for sustainable jobs in the district, and my sisters and I had sold most of our things so we could put as much money aside for that dreaded day as possible. My father could barely speak or move he was in such a brutal agony and mother was so busy and exhausted from caring for her partner she did not have time to comfort the rest of us. Not like we had a spare moment to be comforted. It was by far the most draining and depressing time of my life. After hearing a vicious rumour about a girl in Ivan's year cutting her skin, I couldn't get the bizarre accusation off my mind. It intrigued me, the people who spread the tale explained the girl did it to make her feel happier about herself and life, and to me, having something that could provide that for me right now was something I desperately needed. So one night, at about the same hour as I am in right now, I retrieved the razor my father hadn't used for almost six months and created fain slits in my flesh. It felt strange, but wonderful to have a grasp back on my life, to be able to control how agonising or how bearable the pain I inflicted was. I was in control. And the pain. Turning the fear and hopelessness I was feeling inside of me, a type of pain that seemed so invisible to even myself at times, in to something that could not be ignored. Deeper and deeper I cut, watching the angry crimson gashes forming on my upper arms and thighs and following the river of blood escaping from inside of me. Watching my distress escape. Feeling it all go away, for just a moment or two. Thirsty for more, as much as I could possibly savour. So, using my delicate fingers as I had spent many years creating my father's fish hooks, I manage to part the plastic from that heavenly blade, the only realistic thing in the world at that moment that could bring me any joy in that moment, and watch as I bleed.

My father got better, obviously. One day in November the healer prescribed a medicine that slowly but surely drained the poison from his blood and he returned to us. I did not cut myself again like I had on that night. When things got a struggle, I attempted it, but concluded it only seemed to have an effect when I was in a severe need for an escape, not just for fairly difficult days at home. I still have slight scars though. Inaccurate lines of inflamed powder pink and lilac flesh decorating my body, or a almost unnoticeable nude colored chink on my otherwise uninterrupted complexion. A reminder that I'll never be able to forget. Except now I will, because I am on the journey which is almost certain to end with my face in the sky. So why deprive myself of such a effective mechanism of escape? What is stopping me? I have nothing to lose.

By the time I've finished mutilating my limbs I am sure we cannot be far from our destination. The tiny window positioned above the lavatory in Finnick's bathroom reflects a pearly grey color dictating the sky instead of the earlier navy hue, indicating it must be at least four o'clock. Suddenly it's as if the strange destruction crazed version of myself vanishes and the old sensible reliable Annie Cresta returns. Horrified by my red raw arms and legs, that now burn viciously with severe irritation, I panic. I cannot trail back to my chambers like this, not if I was keen not to leave a bloody trail behind me. So, to buy myself some time to come up with a plan if anything, I peak round the bathroom curtain to be faced with the still unintended bed, and bravely strip off my night gown and heave my damaged frame in to the bath. As I allow the warm silky water to flow from the tap, I wince at the unbearable sting the water brings to my fresh wounds. This is far worse than the actual creating of them, in fact, after a while I began to stop feeling the sharp familiar pain of my flesh being separated and just sat there, transfixed by the pools of blood appearing on my once so innocent and well neutered body. When I had resulted to doing this before, I had not washed until the next evening, and though I felt a slight pain as I bathed it was nothing compared to what I am enduring now. I have to bite my lip to halt myself from crying out in agony, to clasp my legs tight to my chest to comfort my body now ridden with both physical and emotional hurt. Eventually, it submerges, and I am able to scrub the scarlet paint off with my fingernails sufficiently enough. Amazingly, my night dress is still as immaculately clean and fresh as it had been earlier this evening when I first dressed in it, except for the faint splatters of blood inflicted from the wounds on my upper thigh. Pleased with my efforts, I tuck the blood stained blade in to the elastic of my underwear and place Finnick's now useless shaving device back in the exact place I retrieved it from.

Reluctant to return to my room and be bombarded by horrific nightmares and worries, I decide to watch the world go by in the last few hours of our journey, in the back room me and Noah had discovered yesterday. And guess who I find occupying it? The ever absent Mr Finnick Odair, curled up on one of the sofa's staring absent mindededly at the scenery racing by in front of him. Determined not to let his presence drive me away, I take a seat on the sofa opposite to him and give him a polite nod. The nod is returned. Then silence. I am perfectly content with this arrangement until Finnick decides he is not, and attempts to strike up a conversation. "Trains running through the center of district one at the moment. We should be approaching the Capitol in about an hour or so." He announces in a somewhat shy self conscious tone that doesn't fit his image in the slightest. "I'm not all to bothered, if I had a choice I would stay on this train for as long as I could get away with." A sad sort of laugh from Mr Odair. "Yes, I suppose you would. You're not like the other kids we usually get."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?"

"Both, I suppose. It could work to your advantage, but it could also earn you the reputation as a weakling, therefore banishing your chances in getting in with the career pack."

"I don't _want_ to be in the career pack." I shoot back, thinking back to the arrogant blood thirsty tributes that group usually consists of. "Then, your chances of winning decreases." Finnick explains, as if I am a very small child who he is trying to teach basic arithmetic. "I'm not expecting to win. There is no point in giving myself and my family false hope so…"

"What a pessimistic and weakling way to think about the situation. I cannot help you in the slightest if that's your attitude, Annie." Something about the way he says that sentence, as if he feels great pity and sympathy towards me, it makes me feel physically sick to my stomach. He doesn't appreciate what it is like, he had probably spent year after year solidly training for his games, everyone was likely to know from the very beginning his chance of winning was fairly high, despite his youth. He has no idea how things seem from the point of view of an underdog. "Well that works out pretty well seeing as help from you is the last thing I want!" I say in a raised and obviously aggravated tone before I flee from the room.

Breakfast is just starting to be prepared as I enter the dining area. Capitol bred servers are rushing around the carriage, arranging plates of food and drink in a variety of different hues and shapes on to half a dozen long rectangular tables positioned at the far end of the room, exactly how they had been the night before. I ask one of the servers if I can help myself to what had already been arranged, and after a vague nod in my direction I proceed to pile my plate high. I am feeling incredibly empty and light after all of yesterdays making a uncomfortable reappearance at dinner, so I am absolutely ravished. However, I promise myself not to go overboard as I did the previous night, I would pace myself sensibly. So, first I help myself to three strips of stripy bacon, two fried eggs, a large pot of yogurt and a glass of orange juice. I am just coming to the end of my incredible starter meal when Finnick enters the dining room, arm in arm with a very worn down looking Florrie. "Coffee! I need coffee! Immediately!" She wails, slumping herself on to the chair that sits opposite me, not even bothering to maintain the elegance that she claims is so important to her. She takes out a translucent tube of neon pills and offers one to Finnick, who declines. Gulping down several with her freshly prepared coffee, she gives the wide scary grin she always wears on reaping day. "Ah, I feel so much better already! Honestly! I would of given up my job a long time ago if it wasn't for these little treasures!" She gushes, popping a couple more pills in to her mouth and swallowing another couple of mouthfuls of her beverage. "Is Noah not up yet? Somebody had better wake him. I suspect we will be arriving in the Capitol within the next forty minutes or so, and we need to get you both ready yet!" Her anxiousness about the situation makes you wonder whom out of the three of us is actually taking part in the games. So far, Florrie has seemed to be getting more worked up and stressed about things than me or Noah put together. Oh, how I despise citizens from the Capitol.

Right on cue, Noah enters the dining room, already washed and dressed in dark trousers and a plain t-shirt. He looks dazzling for somebody in his position, teeth gleaming brightly in the tender sunlight, hair the color of lemon juice looking soft and healthy, hanging casually across one eye. "Morning." He says neutrally, occupying the seat next to my own. He gives me a small but significant grin. "So, how long until we arrive?" He asks Florrie, who's obviously quite taken aback by his natural energy so early in the day. "Half an hour or so, so it's a good think you thought to dress before coming down. Unlike some people." She lets her gaze fall on me, now making my way through a second breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup topped with yet more bacon, and I flash her a big phony grin that I intended to be a replica of her own. "When you look this great naturally Florrie, getting ready is a complete waste of time and energy!" I mock, sending both Finnick and Noah in to a fit of giggles. I can't deny this pleases me, I am not a particularly humorous person at the best of times, so to stifle a laugh out of not one but two strangers at the worst time in my life to date, well, I mean, it's pretty flattering. Florrie, however, just lets out an irritated sigh and returns to her coffee. We sit in silence, to engrossed in our meals to make any attempt at small talk, until an announcement fills the train. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now approaching the Capitol." Finnick, Florrie and Noah jump out of their seats before the announcer has even finished his sentence, absorbing all the magnificence the Capitol seems to offer from the large circular windows dotted throughout the carriage. I, however, keep my rear end glued securely in my place. Why would seeing the city that is sending me to my inevitable death stir any excitement inside of me? But silently I observe the vivid and vibrant colours, buildings and pedestrians sprinting past a nearby window, as I wait to be let in to the custody of the Capitol.


	5. Promise?

Hey :)

Again I would just like to state that this chapter does refer to self injuring behavior numerous times throughout. If you feel as though you may be triggered or vulnerable to reading about this topic, I urge you to skip this chapter. However, I would like to point out, self harm is only referred to in this chapter as a kind of carry on from the last chapter, and it would seem odd not to mention it after I just dedicated a whole chapter to the topic. In other words, this chapter is a lot less graphic and revolved around it. I am planning to leave the topic behind after this chapter and focus on other elements of the story. If you were unable to read this chapter or chapter four due to personal reasons, but are intrigued to know what has been going on besides Annie's struggles with self injuring, privately message me and I would be more than welcome to copy and paste the bits from the story that don't refer to the topic or to briefly explain what else has been happening in Annie's tale. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Lauren x

* * *

Before I can phantom what is happening, my entourage and I have been launched straight in to the hustle and bustle of Capitol life. The others seem to know how to behave, what image to present to the crowds who have a large amount responsibility for me and Noah's success, however I cannot seem to snap out of my disorientated state. Whilst my companions wave and grin and greet their adoring fans, I just walk on as if the whole scenario was some sort of bizarre hallucination, because it all seems to out of the ordinary to be real life. This time yesterday, I had been sitting on my beach finishing my sisters quilt and letting my thoughts roam freely, I had a supportive and caring family to love and cherish me, I had dreams. Dreams to fall in love, to have a career I feel content and comfortable with. Maybe even to conceive a child of my own someday. And now? Now I have nothing. Absolutely nothing except for the knowledge that in a week's time I have a very probable chance of being sent back to my district as a corpse. Never again will I hear the sound of the waves as they embrace the shore, or the laughs and joyful expressions painted on the faces of those I care for and love with all my heart, those I would risk my life for. It has suddenly hit me. The realization that now, there is no going back, no escape. I am going to die.

We are ushered in to a car that seems to be replica of yesterdays vehicle, which transported us from the justice building to the station. The model seats five people, including the driver, and the windows are blacked out with some sort of peculiar material. I don't know if the Capitol are being kind enough to respect our privacy by assuring no peeping toms surface, or that they are trying to discourage us from soaking up to much of the Capitol atmosphere and culture, after all, it's not like we'll be visiting long. Florrie is chattering away in a rushed over excited sort of way, explaining to us about how the procedure is to be arranged. I'm not really listening. I don't think Noah is either because I can see him trying to outsmart the dark material by staring intently at the passenger window beside him. I don't blame him, the stupid stuff does make you feel more than a little isolated from things. When our driver announces we are nearing our destination, Florrie quickly pulls out two tablets that look exactly the same as the ones she devoured this morning except these particular ones are a calming sky blue. "You must take this now." She announces, and before either Noah or I can object, Finnick, who is seated in the middle seat between us, sharply pinches our noses, forcing our mouths to expand, as Florrie leans behind her seat next to the driver and drops the pills in before Finnick suffocates us. Within minutes, I am trapped in the wonderful world of sleep.

I wake up stark naked, lying on the cold surface of what seems to be glass. The walls that surround me are a blinding white, as are the carpets and the uniforms of the beauticians picking at every inch of my unprotected body. "Roctoba, the girls _covered _in them! " I hear the one, with strange neon pink facial tattoo's decorating her overly altered face. I completely forgot. I didn't even expect I would have to expose myself to these horrid Capitol creatures, so how could I even begin to worry about what they would make of the scabbing wounds which temporarily are part of my outer layer of skin. "We'll have to inform Finnick and the rest of the team. And we'll certainly have to _do _something about it, and fast. Ugly scars only work to the tributes favor if they've earnt them in battle, not attacked themselves with a knife out of sympathy for themselves . Disgraceful, honestly." Announces the obvious leader of the pack, a plump salmon tinted woman dressed head to toe in different shades of pink. They'd be even more stupid than I had given them credit for if they hadn't noticed I was awake and very much engaged in their conversation, but still they do not recognize my presence. "_Shocking. _Especially seeing as she comes from a career district. I simply don't understand it." Contributes a young man with gelled back lavender locks and silver plated teeth. "Of course you don't, how could anybody? Its such a shame and a waste, why behave in a way they presents you as so tragically weak?" I am shocked, how can they voice such cruel and hurtful opinions about me whilst I am looking them straight in the eye? Are they really to oblivious to pain that they do not wonder what it may drive people less fortunate than them to? They really are the most shallow minded and ignorant selection of human beings I have ever been acquainted with. I want to inform them of this but I decide it would be a waste of breath, they would simply chuckle at me in a patronizing manor, because apparently I have now lost the right to be treated like anything other than a product to broadcast their talents. So I continue lying on my back, fixing my gaze on the magnificent glow leaking from the bulb that hangs above me. They bathe me in numerous ghastly solutions, that seem to turn my skin as soft as a blanket of snow and removes even the most gruesome of the cuts, leaving insignificant pale slivers embodied on to my skin in their place. My dark mane of hair is tended to with a variety of products. The man with the silver plated teeth twists and turns it in his perfectly manicured hands so fiercely I am certain he is aiming to dispatch it from my head. My nails are shaped in to shiny rounded squares, my face and body blemished with various sorts of itchy make-up and sprays. Every inch of my body hair is ripped from their roots except for the ones that now sit tamely in soft curls on my shoulder blades. These are just some of the excruciating beauty treatments I have to endure, before it is time for me to be taken to be dressed for the opening ceremony.

My stylist is already awaiting my arrival when a Capitol helper escorts me to the dressing room. She looks vaguely familiar, and must be in her 50's, as she has that elegant look of maturity in her face. Her breasts are the largest I've ever encountered, towering over her curvy stomach and ending as her feminine hips begin. Her face is free from tattoo's and dye, thankfully, but she is wearing rather a lot of make-up. A deep crimson lipstick, an alarming green eye shadow a similar shade to Finnick's eyes. Her own eyes, a beautiful amber complexion that blends perfectly with her ordinary tan clououred locks, are outlined carefully with dark kohl pencil, finishing with elaborately drawn wings. However, compared to the other bizarre appearances the Capitol has presented to me, she looks like the most averagely dressed woman I have ever met. She is wearing the same style of dress Florrie had fashioned at the reaping, but this woman wisely made the look seem more subtle and understated, and therefore all the more wonderful. It is as black as summer shadow, tight fitting from top to bottom, clinging in all the most flattering places, with a long slit up the left thigh. As soon as I set my eyes on her, I am certain she will not be as hard to bare as the rest of my team. Feeling optimistic and pleased about this revelation, I greet this mysterious woman with a slight grin to show her I am willing. She returns the grin, and indicates for me to sit on one of the plush leather sofa's in the middle of the room. "So, Annie, right? I'm Tabiotha. I'm you assigned stylist." Her tone is oozing with comfort but a firm confidence in her ability to dress me well. A detail which may seem insignificant when we're dealing with the hunger games, but a detail of sorts never less. Tabiotha asks me to remove the robe the beauticians had handed to me, and something about her homely mother like aura doesn't make me feel as anxious about revealing my naked body as I would have predicted. After studying me for what seems like hours but couldn't off been more than ten minutes, she suddenly claps her hands together in excitement. "Fabulous. Absolutely spectacular! When I saw your beautiful little face at the reaping I couldn't believe my luck…but really…you are quite magnificent Ms Cresta." I feel my cheeks burn under my many layers of foundation and facial tint. I am not used to getting compliments about my appearance from anyone other than my mother or Ava Marie. "Your eyes. So _green. _Emerald almost. Rare for your district. The kids we usually get come from your district are as fair as faeries with eyes the size and color of swimming pools…but yours…really, your look could really benefit you if you let me help you do so. " I recognize Tabiotha is trying to be kind and encouraging of me but I fail to see how standing out from the past district four tributes is going to increase my chances of winning in the slightest. Though I suppose I wouldn't be conversing with her about such trivial seeming things if the game makers thought it a waste of time and money. So I just smile and nod and thank my stylist as she loses herself in her talk of colour coding and dress materials. That is, until my outfit for the evening is revealed to me at last.

The evergreen hue of the dress is the same coloration as my eyes, as I'm sure Tabiotha had intended as soon as she set her sights on me. The stain of summer meadows and freshly picked sweet pea's. It is tight and long just as my companions dress, however instead of ending at the ankle, my own dress does not end. In fact, it proceeds to go on until it finishes at a delicate fish tail at the bottom of the masterpiece. As I move in to get a closer look, I notice the dress is covered from chest to fin in tiny delicate scales outlined with a metallic silver. On a stall that rests next to the creation, two crowns are sitting. One weaved from seaweed, the other, Coral. "We couldn't quite decide which to use. So we thought we'd give you the honour of deciding. Personally I feel the seaweed would be the better choice, however my team and your fellow tributes stylist thinks I'm going a bit overboard with the whole color coding theme as it is." Tabiotha explains, lounging on the sofa obviously more than satisfied with her work and my reaction to it. "Its…its…extravagant…but so…strange. I've never seen anything like it. Is the tail meant to signify I am from the fishing district…and the scales…?"

"In the Capitol there's an old legend that beautiful sweet women swim in the depths of the ocean. These women are half fish but half human and are called mermaids. The myth has been present for centuries, obviously getting twisted along the way, but I guarantee everybody in that audience will know what you are meant to be and what you signify, who you _are_. You're known for your kindness, volunteering for that retarded girl, for example. Mermaids are often associated with caring young women, and nobody can doubt how stunning you are. To me, you seem perfectly pleasant, but your mentor may want to work on shaping you in to this persona as much as possible. A polite, charming, thoughtful and beautiful young women that nobody can help but to fall in love with." The character Tabiotha has just described to me cannot sound further from my stubborn sensible grumpy self, but I have to give her credit for how well she's thought the whole thing out. I come to realize how much of an affect her efforts have on this whole 'image' scenario, and how much of an affect this image is likely to have on my support from the audience. No matter who I am really, if I want to say I didn't go down without a decent fight, I must do my very best to convince everybody what a feminine and selfless soul I am. I suddenly have the urge to fling my arms around Tabiotha for her intelligent idea, a very 'mermaidy' act of behavior, I note, but I sense the fact she is no more the sort for physical affection than Marina. So instead I just throw as many thank you's I can get away with in the sentences that follow. This seems to please her, but she tries not to let it show and takes each comment with a pinch of salt and a whole lot of grace and elegance. She is by far the most classy woman I have ever met. Tabiotha seems to notice this, how out of place and irrelevant I must be feeling, as she quickly replaces her expression of pride to one of true humbleness and quickly changes the subject. "Now, Coral or Emerald?" After a worrying amount of time deliberating I settle on the Coral. I had favored it from the start, but was afraid the this intensity would remind Noah of home as it shares a name with his sister. However, it really was the most beautiful shade, and I all that green was starting to make my eyes ache. I decided that Noah was focused and strong enough not to let such a insignificant detail affect him. So with all decisions made and problems solved, it is time to put the finishing touches to my appearance and slip in to the pieces of beautifully stitched material that could play some part in saving my life.

We are led to a room that resembles a sort of large attic. Noah and Finnick have already arrived, chatting light heartedly about things I suppose young men from our district talk about. It suddenly occurs to me that there is only one year between them, so it was inevitable to popular citizens such as themselves were bound to get on like a house on fire. Reassuring and comforting for my opponent I'm sure, but it doesn't do me any favors in the slightest. An boring and awkward sixteen year old who floats through life by fading in to the background of her surroundings, or an attractive charismatic dream-boat who had probably hundreds of admirers already. It was obvious who Finnick would be rooting for out of the two of us. Potentially, Noah could win it, he has years of training and his personality on his side. Me, though? No chance. Suddenly that feeling of distressing realization makes a reappearance and I find myself struggling to consume air. I cannot let breath reach my lungs no matter how hard I am trying, and I would cry for help but the situation I am in makes this physically impossible. Nobody is paying attention to me. Tabiotha has left to talk to another Capitol woman, who I'm presuming is Noah's stylist, who is standing on the edge of the boys conversation on the other side of the room. I cannot halt this panic. I feel like I am going to expire before I even had a chance to fight, and I am invisible to everybody who surrounds me. Finally, Noah spots me and races over to the spot in which I'm standing, rubbing the small of my backless dress gently in an attempt to calm me down. Peering over his shoulder, he ushers Finnick, who I notice standing in disbelief in the same place the boys were conversing just moments before. "Is she okay?" He calls eventually, coming over to join us. "I think she's just nervous, is that right Annie?" I give a feeble nod to let him know he is correct. "Thank _god_. From where we were standing it looked like she was having some sort of seizure or attack or something, I thought we were going to have to call the medics in." He lets out a relieved laugh that makes me want to sock him in his beautifully shaped jaw. Still, a small part of me was satisfied in knowing I'd given him a shock. "No, nothing as dramatic as that I'm afraid, Finnick." I manage to wheeze between consuming air. It is getting easier now, now that my distress has been recognized. In fact, my pattern of breathing has almost returned to normal. "I suspect it was just a panic attack, then. Anyway, if you're quite done with being overly neurotic, it's time for you both to take your place in the line." He huffs, giving us an unimpressed expression and a finger indicating to our fellow tributes who had already began to position themselves. We are just about to perform his request, when the firm and reassuring hand I felt on my shoulder at the reaping reappear. "Annie, after the parade, we need to have a little talk." A "little talk", what in god's name was that meant to mean? Then it dawned on me, the prep team had vowed to inform him of what they witnessed…"What about dinner?" I ask stupidly, my gaze not quite reaching his eyes. "After. Good luck, honey." The dull patronizing tone he uses aggravates me enormously, but the blunt and concerned nature that laces it triggers terror, itching at my skin like leeches, feeding on the little courage I had saved up for this evening. He'd done it on purpose, I had decided. To throw me off guard and therefore give Noah a better chance. Not that he'd of needed to, it was obvious he was going to out stage me even if I had all the courage of the tributes put together. Looking handsome and almost naked in a similar costume to my own, from the waist down anyway, it was evident that he was going to raise a lot of excitement for the Capitol crowds. Everybody always loves an attractive male tribute to make his opponents look meek. His tail is an electric blue, which I note is very close in comparison to his eye coloring. I realize that this is some plan our stylists thought of to attempt some originality, their own little imaginative touch to the outfits, but I don't really think it has all that much of an affect seeing as nobody will be close enough to us to notice anyway. Noah's hand grips around a plastic trident, a weapon of which only our mentor have been praiseworthy at using, and he is wearing elaborate blue eye shadow on his eyes and lips. My own make up is a lot more subtle, a lipstick to match the color of my braided crown, smoky grey kohl outlining my eyes which are dusted with deep green shadow and several layers of foundation and blush products to 'add a little color to my cheeks'. My hair is loose and falls elegantly down my naked back and the necklace from my sisters has been retied around my neck line. I look kind of attractive. Almost anybody could with the kind of beauty treatments and professional help I had been exposed to. But compared to Noah and the other tributes positioning themselves around us, I feel terribly self conscious all of a sudden. The stress of this and the worry of what cruel words Finnick will bombard me in a couple of hours from now, make me almost certain my body is about to schedule another panic attack. Fortunately though, just as the torture is due to begin, I am thrust in to the bright lights of the opening ceremony.

Noah and I stand in our horse drawn carriage, with as much pride as we can muster and present without words. Needless to say, he is doing a better job that I. Waving excitedly at the adoring crowd and beaming endlessly at people he had never encountered before. However, I am not as bad as I had expected myself to be. I can't deny the adoring atmosphere of the audience is overwhelming and weirdly wonderful. In this moment, I forget that I loathe the individuals that make up the crowds and simply give in and ride the wave of my new found celebrity status. I give shy little waves, grateful grins and even blowing a few kisses in the direction of the most outrageous of the lot. Before I know it, we have been transported to the other side of town, outside the house of the president. "Welcome, citizens of the Capitol, and an even bigger welcome to this year's twenty four courageous tributes." Snow announces in the same tone in which he does every year I've been alive to watch the ceremony on our television. Powerful and intimidating but somehow weaved with a strong sense of charm and sympathy. An attempt to lessen the districts dislike for him, maybe. "We are honored to have you here with us today. And we _thank you_ for your presence and more importantly, your sacrifice. Let the training of the 70th Hunger Games begin!" A sickly sweet grimace appears on his crumpled elderly face. The tangles in my abdomen tighten in disgust. "And may the odds, be _ever_ in your favor."That's it. That is all he offers in a way of thanks. I suppose the audience feels he is being generous and complementary even offering up this, as of course, us tributes are the spawn of the rebels that almost destroyed Panem. However, in my opinion, the thought of their perception of the whole affair makes me sick to my stomach.

I am to nervous about Finnick's request to enjoy my evening meal properly, which is a shame, as the food in the training center seems to be even more extravagant than what was served to us on the train. Sweet pea and onion soup, plump juicy legs of meat, not to mention the fresh fluffy white bread that had only been removed from the oven moments prior. Instead of indulging in this fantastic feast as the rest of the team are eagerly doing, I simply sit and sip my orange juice and pick at my turkey leg anxiously. By the time I have finally consumed about half of the leg, everybody else is tucking in to their desert, which I wisely decide to pass on. Instead, I finish off what I can of the turkey, and pour myself another glass of that sweet refreshing liquid, observing the conversations and behavior of my peers. Tabiotha is typically very polite and proper with her meals, slicing and pilling everything in the most accurate and neat of manors. The woman she had gone over to speak to earlier, a woman named Flosa who was indeed Noah's stylist, will not stop chattering to Florrie and Finnick and seems to be an irritatingly fussy eater, pushing perfectly good pieces of meat and bread to the far end of her plate. Unsurprisingly, Noah is as amazed by the selection as food as myself. He earns himself a few disapproving looks from the Capitol ladies due to his lack of table manners, where as Finnick just laughs. Finnick always seems to be laughing or joking around, and its one of the things I find increasingly aggravating about him. I know he was once a tribute in these games himself, so surely he can understand the severity of them? Though I suppose he was a typical career, so maybe the whole affair does not seem so serious to someone like himself. Who knows? All I hoped was that he would not make insensitive jokes about the topic I was certain he wanted to discuss with me after dinner.

I try to escape, eager to familiarize myself with my new home and then settle down for the night, not to listen to Finnick mocking me. However, he seems to of expect my plan and his grasp reaches my arm before I have barley stood up from my seat. "There's a mini lounge, outback. Me and Annie will be discussing things in there for a while, is that okay with everybody?" He announces to the group.

"Yes, of course, as long as you aren't too long because we will need to be watching the playbacks of the ceremony in there in a short while." Florrie informs us.

"Okay great, we'll be sure not to miss it." He responds planting a peck on his colleagues cheek. It's obvious for even somebody as inexperienced as I am that it is purely friendly, but even so her face suddenly leaves behind its regular shade of pea to a furious crimson. Leaving a very flushed Florrie and our increasingly intoxicated stylists in the dining room, Finnick takes my arm and leads me through the corridors in which all of our bedrooms are located and into a small lounge located at the other side of the floor. I immediately know this place is my favorite room in the whole building, despite not even being introduced to most of them yet, not even my bedroom. Its positively tiny which just adds to the comfortable,homely atmosphere, and every piece of furniture is a brilliant shade of ocean blue, and lapping waves dotted with fish and ocean plants decorate the wall. The ceiling is painted the color of the sky, the carpet the shade of the sand back home. I wonder if the rooms resemblance to our district is meant to be comforting or an attempt to cause us upset, but luckily for me I am filled with the first option. I suppose I have outgrew the phase of home-sicknesses and am just grateful to be in a surrounding relatively similar to the one in which I was raised.

"First things first, honey. You got anything on you?" Finnick asks before we have even seated ourselves.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean I…"

"Don't lie to me, Annie. You knew your prep team were gonna tell me." Recognizing I have been defeated I give him a miserable shrug and whisper my response. "It was a onetime thing, okay? I haven't got anything."

"You better not be lying to me."

"Or what?" I fire back, suddenly incredibly aggravated about the way he is approaching this whole situation, as if I am some kind of clueless idiot. As if I had the same mental age as dear Ava. "Look, you're not taking this right. I mean, it's obviously a lot of wasted time if we are forced to clean up your wounds every other day, it is a major inconvenience for both your presentation and your prep team, and if potential sponsors found out about it you could guarantee they wouldn't give you…"

"What's your point?" I say sharply. Finnick tries to stifle a chuckle at my fierce emphasis, which only makes matters worse. I let out a dramatic little scream and punch the arm aqua sofa I am perched on. This is very unusual behavior for me, as I very rarely resort to any sort of physical aggression. "Okay, calm down, calm down, okay?" Finnick says with an edge of panic in his voice. "The reason I don't want to find out you've been…you know…" He pretends to demonstrate a poor interpretation of someone violently sawing through his forearm. "I…I think you're in for a shot. Of winning. I know the thought of it may seem ridiculous to you, but trust me, you could do it. And…I really want you to do it. Because hardly anybody decent or worthy ever wins the games, and despite what you may have assumed, the rest of the team and I are quite fond of you." I can't think of an appropriate way to respond to this revelation so I choose not to. "Well, okay, Tabiotha and I are fond of you, if I'm honest Florrie and Flosa couldn't care less about you or Noah." He admits, releasing a sunny laugh.

"I have no chance of winning. None. None whatsoever. Stop trying to fill my mind with false hope."

"I'm _not_. You're a great girl, Annie. You're smart and capable and _likable._ Hey I mean, if you can pull at _my_ sympathy strings, the guy who brutally murdered half a dozen children_ and _betrays the trust of ten times that many women every week, it's pretty evident you're a little special." His gaze, which moments ago was so fixed on my own, now lower dramatically. This is how I know I discover he is not mocking me, he really believes the words escaping from his mouth.

"How…how about Noah?"

"What about him?"

"He's a great guy. He is capable and athletic and charming. He has a much higher chance of winning the games than I do."

"I agree with you that he is a very kind hearted guy. But he's not smart. You want to know why he volunteered? To bring pride to the district. To be something, to be somebody, like every other career tribute I've ever met. Anybody who feels they need to win the games to escape being a nobody, to feel like they're worth something, lacks a relatively large amount of intelligence in my opinion."

"I don't agree. Noah is nothing like the career pack."

"Which is what makes things even worse for him. He is too trusting, to naive and stuck in his own little world. He seems to believe he can come out unharmed, not having to even play the tiniest part in a plan to murder his fellow tributes. I have already promised him this will not happen, but he does not believe me. And this is just one of the things he refuses to accept. To be honest, I believe he is so wrapped up in the idea of representing the district and feeling appreciated for more than just his appearance it seems to outweighs his desire to stay alive. But you. You're different."

"How do you know…we've barley ever spoken…what do you…"

"You're realistic, Annie. You know your chances are slim, in fact you underestimate yourself, but not so much that you're at the point of giving in. It's obvious you're not going to go down without a fight. It's not in your nature."

"You don't know me."

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"Are we done here?"I say, growing increasingly confused and irritated with this bizarre situation. "If you promise me you will not cut yourself again, then yes."

"Okay, whatever."

"Say it then."

"I _promise_, okay?"

"Okay." Then he exits the blue capacity as quickly as he had entered it.


	6. Training

The following morning I wake well rested and fairly optimistic compared to the negative outlook I had adopted since arriving in the Capitol. Maybe it was down the fact I was able to actually get some sleep, though I'm sure the latter wouldn't of been possible without the help of Florrie's collection of little tablets. She has one for every occasion you can imagine, to maintain the vibrant appearance a certain skin tone, to give your eyes an extra glow on a special occasion, to add emphasis or to minimize certain parts of your body. Anything you want to change or improve in yourself, I can guarantee any citizen of the Capitol will own a pill that can fix it for you. Of course it is an understatement even thinking it is grossly unfair to the people who live in the districts, who would pay extreme amounts of money for these pills to treat their sick family members. I don't condone it, but I can't help but be impressed. Anyway, after my baffling conversation with Finnick earlier that evening, I am positive sleep would be impossible without some sort of assistance.

After Finnick leaves me alone in that room of blue, I allow the crowds of questions I have been have been trying to restrain throughout the conversation, to be released at last. What can he possibly mean, 'I'm different'? How does he mean that? And why? Is this some sort of twisted trick? Why is he fond of me when I've been as distant as I could be since meeting him? And they keep coming. This is the moment when I make the discovery to get any rest for my first day of training tomorrow is a situation unlikely to occur. My mind has seemed to of set itself in over thinking mode without my realising it, and just as I am about to untangle it as sufficiently as I can manage, Finnick re-enters the room, this time arm in arm with Florrie and Flosa. "Guess what time it is Annie?!" Florrie exclaims perching her rear on the seat next to mine. "Time for the playback?" Flosa lets out an little squeal of delight and excitement. "Yes! Oh, I can hardly wait. I sent Tabiotha to fetch Noah from his chambers, but she is taking an awfully long time with it…" And as if on cue, in strides my stylist and exhausted looking district partner. "He is a_ very_ deep sleeper. Had to get an avox to help me wake him." Tabiotha offers as an expiation for their late arrival. Finnick reveals a small machine that resembles the television controllers we have back home, and suddenly a flat rectangular figure is emerging from the waves. It upsets me somewhat, to have something I care so little about ruin the theme of my beautiful room, but I am grateful it is at least well hidden. After the re-play has ended half an hour later, after the many over whelmed exclamations and high pitched squeals escaping the mouths of our Capitol companions, I feel just as drained with energy as Noah looks. With the distractions slowly decreasing though as my team heads for bed, my brain is beginning to work over time again. Desperate to give myself the best chance I can, I politely ask Florrie if she can spare any of her little pills as I am feeling to agitated to get much sleep. Glad she can finally be of some assistance to me, she gives me several to take whenever I needed them and promises to provide more if my supply ran out. I don't think they will. I count eight, and having picked up my mother's anxieties about curious looking medication, I only allow myself to take half a tablet. I drift off in to a deep slumber within a couple of minutes.

So, feeling fresh and raring to get started, I rise from my hibernation before I sense any other active human life happening on the other side of my bedroom door. Pulling off my nightdress and under garments, I run myself a bath, making sure to set it at the mild temperament that tricks me in to thinking I am bathing in water of a sacred significance. They have showers here, but after experimenting with it I decided I disliked it in comparison to a comforting soak. Taking my time to slather my hair and body in glamorous Capitol provided products and allowing myself to feel relaxed and contented for the first time in what seemed like months, I feel incredibly satisfied with my efforts of a stress-free awakening. Eventually, because I know I will convince myself to trap myself in this moment for as long as I can get away with if I do not, I remove my moist body from the tub and wrap a towel around it. Folded neatly in the large chest of drawers that dominates most of my room, I find a teal vest top with the number 4 imprinted on the back, and a pair of faded grey joggers. In the draw below where my shoes and various other things are apparently kept, I find a pair of plain black plimsolls and numerous pairs of ivory socks. Dressing myself in these garments and tying my freshly washed hair in to a sloppy ponytail behind my head, I leave my room, as prepared as much as I ever could be for my first day of training.

Finnick and Noah are already sitting at the dining table when I arrive. It is obvious to me that they are both already engaged in deep conversation, so I decide not to make any effort to interrupt or to gain an invite in to their discussion. Instead, I pile my plate high with a variety of food in an attempt to balance my diet, breakfast meats and bread still scorching hot from the ovens. Exotic fruit I had never heard of before, pastries filled to the brim with sweetness. Everything you could ever imagine to be served at a breakfast provided by the Capitol. Taking the seat furthest away from the boys, I concentrate passionately on my meal, attempting to drain out the conversation of my associates as satisfactorily as I can. This morning, whilst I was feeling comfortable enough, bathing in toasty water and the peacefulness that dawn brings, I let my speculations and anxieties be heard at last. I won't go in to details about this session, as I struggle to make sense of most of it myself, it is of such a rambling and disorganised nature. However, I can say the conclusion I took from it; I decide to avoid communication with Finnick and Noah for here onward. Last night, I was so close to letting my mask fall, setting my true emotions free in to the hands of those who cannot be trusted to handle them. On many other occasions, I've felt a similar way towards Noah. I've felt hope, hope that maybe it is possible for me to have a friend, a confident in a place so dark and so very lonely. To have someone believe in me, and to vent and try to make sense of muddled mind to somebody who was not playing a game, but simply just wanted to listen. And I can't let myself be so naïve as to ignore the fact that this is a very unlikely possibility.

"Hey, Annie. Sleep well?" Noah asks, punctuating the comfortable quietness of the room. I don't see any reason not to be civil though, I don't hate Noah, far from it. I just could not trust him in our current situation. "Yes, very well, thanks. Yourself?" He nods vigorously, as he chews the bacon he had shovelled in to his mouth, whilst waiting for my response. "You want some more juice?" Finnick offers, beginning to lift the jug that rested in front of him, intending to hand it to me. "No thanks. I have plenty as it is." I respond, careful not to meet either of their eyes. Marina once told me, letting a boy see in to your eyes when you are feeling vulnerable and alone, is like letting him see in to your soul. Something which I adamant will not happen. "You okay, you seem kind of shifty, uncomfortable, even." Finnick questioned, eyeing me up with a sense of great suspicion. "I'm _fine_, okay?" I blurt out in a panicked hurry. "Okay, if you say so…" The three of us sit in a stony silence until the rest of the team arrive, bringing sunny conversation and mannerisms with them. After breakfast, Florrie instructs us to have a quick five minute discussion with Finnick about our tactics, and then be on our way. It is only half past nine, but both Finnick and her informed us that it is thought the respectable thing to do to arrive at least ten minutes before that. Our mentor settles himself on a glamorous leather sofa in the main lounge and ushers us over to join him. "So, today is probably more important than either of you have yet anticipated." He begins after Noah seat ourselves opposite him. "You need to get in with the career pack. That's your best chance of surviving by far. Compared with district one and two, four are often seen as the underdogs of the group but that in no way lessens your chances in making an impression on them. They'll be watching your every move, sussing you out, judging whether or not you'd make a good addition or a useless one." "That shouldn't be a problem. I'm strong and Annie careful. We can both fish well, and spear fish in shallow waters, hunting should be easy for us. We have just as much going for us than any other career." "I agree. It shouldn't be too much of a challenge. But you need to feel secure and incredibly useful to the pack, otherwise you'll be sure to be first on their kill list when all the other tributes are dead." I can't help but noticing Finnick is addressing me when he says this. "Hey, I can't help it, if they want to get me first, I can't really change their minds. I'm a lot smaller than all of them from what I've seen, and a lot less ruthless. It wouldn't surprise me." "I don't want to hear any talk like that." Finnick demands in a raised voice. "You need to make yourself be noticed, to be significant to them." "I agree. It won't be difficult Annie. We're both pretty likable people, and relatively skilled." "Yeah, well whatever. I just want to get it over with to be honest." "You frightened?" Finnick asks in a gentle sympathetic tone that makes my stomach tangle in to a series of difficult knots. "No." I lie. I'm not as nervous as anyone would expect, that is true. Thanks to a good night's rest and surprisingly even maybe the words of belief and optimism Finnick supplied me with the night before, I am feeling a lot more at ease about the whole affair than I had originally expected. But never less, I am still sick to my stomach with crippling anxiety. "I don't believe it. I'm twice your size and two years older than you and even I feel like I'm going to crap my pants at any moment now." Noah confesses bashfully. "To much information!" I grimace. And then, it is time to face the music.

The training centre is located deep in the depths of the building. Probably the lowest floor any resident staying there could possibly be transported to via the lift responsible for us getting where we needed to be. The female tribute from district two had already occupied the transporter when it arrives at our floor. She must be around the same age me, and is slender but stout and able bodied. Her complexion displays great contrast. Skin so pale it seems almost colourless but hair and eyes as black as the sky on a evening in the height of winter. She wears a crimson vest and joggers in the same shade as my own and a haunting scowl. When she see's us, she lets out a bored sigh, and steps aside to make room for us. Noah is the only one who makes any pursuit to kill the awkward atmosphere. "Shadow, right? I'm Noah, this is Annie." He says gesturing towards me cowering in to a corner at the other side of the lift. Shadow ignores him but Noah persists. "So…it looks like we're going to be expected to work together, being from the career districts and all, have the rest of the group discussed…" "We'll never 'work together'. I will never go out of my way to protect you, not any of you. Not even Meeti. Not if it puts my own life at risk." She clarifies bluntly. Noah, obviously taken aback by her brashness, looks at me with a startled expression. Suddenly feeling defensive of my ally, I say to the girl "And don't expect us to do the same for you. It's evident that we're all gonna have to try and take each other out at some point, but wont don't we save the rude remarks for then and try to get along for the time being, shall we?" Now it's Shadows turn to be bewildered. But she does not snap back at me, simply accepting that in this battle, I have won.

Both tributes from district one, and the male tribute from two, who I assume must be Shadow's Meeti, have already arrived, along with a intimidating serious looking girl from district three and the pair from six. I snatch a quick glance at the clock located on one of the walls in the training centre, and it see it is almost quarter to. At this point I am only in a room with seven other kids and it already seems seven to many to watch or possibly cause the deaths of, no matter how rude or arrogant they may seem. Taking a chair as near to the edge as the circle as possible, I patiently wait as the rest of my opponents arrive. I try to take as much notice of them as my nerve ridden brain can process. A apprehensive girl from nine who I refuse to believe is a day over ten, at most. A striking red headed female from seven. A positively spooked looking boy from eight, whom was trembling so vigorously you would of thought he was all ready baring the bitter nights that are bound to be ahead in the arena. Among many others. The troubled young girl from district eleven who I remember falling to the ground in disbelief just as Ava had. The large robust sturdy seeming boy from ten. All but one are going to be dead within the weeks that follow. All have family, friends, dreams and ambitions. Likes, dislikes, hobbies and interests. All of them are people, teenagers, innocent _children_, just like myself.

The woman who ran the training sessions started off by explaining the few rules that were in place. "First off, _no_ fighting. You'll have plenty of time for _that_ in the arena." She said in a cheery tone, as if she was telling us some sort of hilarious joke. "Secondly, you are forbidden to spend all your time at one station. Not only is it unbeneficial to _you_, it is also unfair on your fellow tributes who may want to give that station a try." _How considerate of you to think in our best interests_ I say to myself inwardly in a manner of sarcasm. "And lastly. You must refrain from stealing any of the centres weapons so you can practice outside training hours. If anybody is found taking the equipment the weapons will be returned to us and the rest of your remaining training sessions shortened, is that clear?" A hum of acknowledgment follows this demand from us tributes. And then we are set free. Allowed to explore whichever station we desire. But before I can make the most of this advantage, Noah has taken my arm and is pulling me in the direction of the careers like I should of expected from the start. I don't know what makes him so dead set on giving me the best possible chance, but what I do know is that he has more determination than Finnick seems to give him credit for. Shadow and the other careers are huddled in a circle at the far end of the room, obviously discussing tactics. Without any hesitation, Noah bounds up to them, dragging me along behind him. "So, guys, what are we gonna go for first?" The group look at us as if we are a pair of deranged mutts. Then, recovering from my accomplice's sudden assumption, they observe us both, carefully examining us from head to toe with their accusing eyes. Finally, Meeti breaks the uncomfortable silence. "You can join, but not the girl." "Why not? She is just as much use to you as I am." "To small. To weak. Look at her, not an ounce of muscle under that skin." The girl from one offers spitefully, her voice oozing with venom. "I disagree. Muscle's aren't everything. She can make a decent fish hook out of anything, and is a good hunter and gatherer. Being muscular won't feed us in the arena." "Won't need feeding, not if we get the packs." Her partner explains. "When have you ever seen a game that provided backs supplied with food other than snacks such a crackers and strips of thin meat? With Annie on side, we'll have fresh food everyday." I look up at Noah's desperate pleading face, and feel a pang of guilt. How could I of vowed to not put my faith in him? When he was trying so hard to get me accepted by the careers and to prolong my life as much as he could, surely he couldn't be playing any sort of twisted game, as Finnick pointed out, he is not that clever. "It's okay, Noah, leave it." I announce, readying myself to make my way over to make my way over to the person survival section. "No, I won't. The food won't last forever, and she's brilliant with spears and tridents, maybe even better than myself. She finds tons of useful things whilst hunting in the waters, trust me, do you really think I'd be trying to convince you to take her on if she wasn't any use? At least give her a chance, will you?" The careers deliberate their decision with their eyes. It reminds me of when I was back home, at the school, and was always picked last in gym class for the exact same reason. Being skinny isn't as wonderful as people seem to think. Finally Shadow speaks up. "She's got spirit, I'll give her that. She gave me a right earful in the lift." I cannot believe my ears, a snooty career from district two who had vowed to never protect me, risking the group questioning her loyalty to save my skin. I would be grateful, if it wasn't for what came out of her mouth next. "Besides, at least she'll be easy to kill when the time comes." With a reluctant grunt of agreement from the others, my place in the pack is conformed, for now anyway.

Under Meeti's instruction, I spend most of the first training day at the survival stations. I think the careers plan is to have me be responsible for their survival through my basic knowledge of hunting and fair amount of common sense. As unimpressive as it may sound, compared to my allies skills in the above, I seem to definitely be worth giving a trial run. Noah, Meeti, and the boy from district one, Merlin, dictate the knife and spear throwing station, whilst Shadow and her wicked companion, who I learn is named Shimmer, perfect their outstanding skills in archery. I suspect all four of my new 'buddies' had been training for these games since they could walk on their hind legs, so it isn't a surprise they're so talented with weaponry, but never less it makes my ability to make a satisfactory fish hook to shame. But of course, I am happy to be isolated arrogant beasts, and am feeling quite contented learning about various types of food fit for consumption in the numerous types of atmospheres and landscapes the game makers could choose. The disoriented looking girl from eleven is accompanying me, but she doesn't really seemed to concerned about learning anything to maintain her survival. In fact, after spending pretty much the whole day minus lunch with her, I don't think I see her engage in the lesson the station leader is composing once. I don't try to make conversation, because I know it will be frowned upon by my new found alliances, and also because I have no idea what to say. It does not lessen my sympathy for her though. Skin the hue of the coco, features soft and gentle, hair glossy and the colour of coal, she is so inconveniently beautiful. However, she has already seemed to of lost her sanity before we have even been lifted in to the arena.

Three and a half of the four training days are spent in personal survival. The afternoon of the third day was spent throwing spears with Noah and Meeti, as Shimmer decided that I could be plotting to trick us all, as I had been the only one to spend any time anywhere other than the combat sections. Lunchtime was always sufficiently awkward. Us six sit together at the centre table, laughing and joking hollowly in response to the sickening conversation we are throwing at each other. Who will be easiest to kill first. How pathetic the other tributes seem. How excited we are to get started. Of course, I am putting on a act, to secure my place in the pack for long as I can possibly manage. I suspect Noah is too, because I know he is so unlike the rest of them, and I see him look discreetly uncomfortable on several occasions. By the second day, I am already settled into a comfortable and secure routine. After recklessly disobeying the rule of stealing equipment, by the end of the first day I have snatched a piece of rope from personal survival. I figure it will give me something to do to distract myself from things, and of course, a little extra practice can never hurt. Every morning and evening before and after I have sleep, I practice tying knots. I find this relaxing and meditating. Focusing on the knots and nothing else allows me to jump in to another universe for a little while, as the self injury had. Anyway, so the day would start with say, twenty to thirty minutes of knot tying. Then, I would always make sure I had woken early enough to have a leisurely bath. Who knows, there may be no source of water, or any spare time, for me to do so when I was placed in the arena. Enjoy things whilst they last, as my mother had always told me. After I bathe, I dress, and then join my team at breakfast. I have allowed myself to become a little more friendly and warm towards Finnick, Noah and Tabiotha, as I have become aware the odds of them trying to damage my chances are very slim, still possible, but unlikely seeming. However, I still have no time for Florrie or Flosa and ignore their presence as much as I can. I find this wonderful beverage, that Tabiotha tells me is called 'hot chocolate', that I cannot get enough of. With all that luscious orange juice as well, my bladder is practically overflowing by the time the meal is finished. Breakfast is followed by training in the morning, which is followed by lunch, which is followed by yet more training. Then a large buffet dinner, light conversation and relaxation time.

I spend a lot of my relaxation time with Finnick, which is a shock to me as it must be to everyone else. I don't know how this little arrangement came about, but on the first day of training I walk into the blue room at half past seven to find a very relaxed Mr Odair lounged across one of the three leather couches. He is reading a book I do not recognise, a glass of liquor in one hand and his reading marital balanced in the other. When he senses my presence, at once he leaves his book and boozing behind to speak with me, which I find uncharacteristically polite but pleasant. It makes me feel pretty significant and important for the first time since my arrival here, to know he'd retrieve himself from something he seems so engrossed in and interested by. We speak. About many things, and as the days go by I realise more and more how wrong I had seemed to be about him. He is not cocky, but self assured. Not vain, but has pride. Finnick is kind, and witty and intelligent. We talk about everything, from the way the waves embrace the shore back home, to our families. He tells me how his mother died when he was an infant, leaving his father to bring up both him and his younger siblings. He is close to weeping when explaining how his brother and sister became ill, and how his sister passed away weeks before the reaping of his games. How, though he'd be training for this day since his eleventh birthday, he had not even considered volunteering until he was at least seventeen. But he didn't want the same fate to curse his remaining relatives. So he sacrificed himself, and his brother got better, and his father became eternally grateful and proud of his son. Both men lived in the victors village, and were contented as much as a citizen of Panem could be. However, Finnick confesses to me he is not. How he pretends to everybody including himself that he is, but he still feels a roaring pain ripping apart his insides, an empty gap below his skin tissue burning to be filled. I listen, mainly. I suppose I don't really have much to offer to him in the way of truths and confessions. My life, compared to many others, even in such a wealthy district as four, is as pleasant as one could wish for. I have a loyal circle of friends, a loving family, talents and skills. I am not useless, nor ugly or miserable. I am lucky. I _was_, up until this point, anyway. I pour out my sorrows and fears as much as my cautiousness will allow, and Finnick understands, because just five years ago he was in the exact same position of I. Apart from Noah, who is often to occupied devising tactic after tactic to engage in heart to hearts, he is the only person I am really able to do this with, and undoubtedly this seems to create a sort of peculiar connection between us. I cannot put my finger on it, but it is certainly there, and I am glad of it. I am glad that I am able to have one last friendship and confident before I die. And what a confident he is. Warm and empathetic under all those stubborn layers of self confidence and vanity. It seems a strange description, but it's as if he is one of those buns the bakery sells back home. Stone cold and stiff on the outer layer, but oozing with sweet jam a couple of bites in. If I wasn't training for the games, if my time spent in his company held any other purpose but short lived comfort, I have secretly decided, I would very much love to grow close to him.


	7. The Confession

It's the last night but one until us tributes face our fate. Tonight, my team and I huddle around the television in the blue room, waiting for our private training scores to be delivered. We have just digested our evening meal, though I was to impaired with uneasiness I could only pick at my chicken salad. It's not that the private session went outrageously or anything, I couldn't pick any prominent faults or mistakes in my performance, but even so, I can still feel my heart drumming violently beneath my breastbone dictating me. Under Finnick's strict instruction I chose to throw spears at dummies provided by the game makers. I hit close to the heart of the object on all by one, in which I hit the upper arm. After reciting the session in great detail to Florrie and Finnick, they agreed I should at least be granted a seven for my efforts, not at all something to be ashamed of. But how can I ever be proud of it? Careers always get no less than an eight, and the tributes who obtain that score are under harsh supervision from that point onwards. How on earth was I to convince the careers I was worthy of being an ally with a disappointing seven? I cannot shake the agitation growing increasingly strong inside of me, fuelling my panicked heart to rise and fall erratically inside of me, my once so steady hands to tremble with anxiety. Finnick recognises this. He does not say anything to make anybody assume so at dinner, but as we make our way to the blue room he hangs behind so he can fall in step with me. "You'll be okay." He whispers, his hand, strong and able, decorated with faint pink scars identical to the ones that decorate my arms, rests on the small of my back. And in that moment, I swear my heart stops dancing altogether.

I get a nine. Something that shocks not just me, but everybody witnessing the broadcast, Finnick included. Noah scores a very respectable ten. Our team, who are of course much more knowledgeable about our current situation than we are ourselves, inform us are place in the career pack is most definitely safe. Especially seeing as Shimmer is given a score of eight, something even I am certain will seem unimpressive to the rest of the association. After the update, Florrie, Flosa and Tabiotha return to the front room to gossip. Noah, as always, promises to join them in a little while, as the charming atmosphere a young male brought to a conversation seemed to delight them even more so than the latest scandal. However, it is obvious he enjoys being in Finnick and I's company a lot more, as he is able to relax and speak about things he actually has an opinion on, opposed to who wore what to the latest Capitol social event. Noah has taken to jumping between us two groups, as he can please others but also have some time to think of himself in which could be his final days. If I were him, and the ladies requested me to sit with them instead of putting the world to rights with Finnick, I am not sure I would be able to be so polite and tactful about the situation. However, it is evident to me by this point that my opponent is a much more considerate person than myself. "You two are by far the best set we've had in years. For the past couple neither male nor female had even been considered by the career pack, they'll be delighted back home." Finnick compliments.

"We shouldn't be so self-assured yet. The careers are brutal, and Shadow as good as told us we'd be the first to go."

"No, she said that about me, not you. They'll be keeping on to you as long as they possibly can." I point out to Noah. "I disagree, with Merlin and Meeki I doubt they'll hold on to me for more than a week or so."

"See, this is where both of you let yourself down. I am the first to admit arrogance can be dangerous, but so can minimal self belief. If you have convinced yourself you have no chance, do you really expect one to be thrust upon you?" We groan in a reluctant agreement that he is, as usual, very much right. How can we focus on winning the games if we've already ruled the possibility out? "You're right, Finnick. It's just so difficult to maintain such a healthy ego, we aren't all like yourself." Noah jokes. "Maybe the ladies will help you with it, you know how much they adore you. Go to them quick, before they get to intoxicated to think up such praise!" The way Finnick says this is both sinister and mocking. He is trying to disguise the seriousness of his voice with a mask of humour, but it is obvious neither I or Noah buys it, as he departs from the room with just an awkward nod in a way of goodbye. "Did you deliberately make him leave?" I accuse at once, furious that he had aimed to make such a gentle soul as Noah to squirm. "Maybe. I wanted to be alone with you."

"Well, he wouldn't have stayed for much longer. You could have waited for him to leave on his own terms. What possessed you to be so rude?"

"We won't have many evenings like this left. In fact, all but tomorrow and tonight. It was selfish, but I don't see why I should deprive myself of it, or you of it, for that matter."

"Why the hell to you believe our conversations are of such high importance to me?" I reply, half jokingly, half with a mind possessed with curiously. He shrugs casually. "I'm good at reading people." Suddenly, I feel the tension and fear that had multiplied inside of me increasingly since the day of the reaping. I was always aware of its existence, like a dog is aware of his tail but often makes no attempt to pursue capturing it. Until this point, it hadn't seemed to bother me all that much. It was uncomfortable, of course, unpleasant at most. But bearable, because I was so busy and wrapped up in training and various other activities, the fact that I felt as though drop after drop of poison was being filtered in to my bloodstream, the more the dreaded day neared. Sitting there, joking and conversing with Finnick Odair, I realised, I felt more safe to let my horrors escape from its gloomy cell inside my head, than I ever had done before. The security and comfort of the beach back home is nothing in comparison to the feeling that consumes me in this moment. "I'm scared, Finnick."

"I know. If there is anything I could do to prevent this from happening, you know I would do it."

"Would you, really?"

"Of course. You underestimate how much I care for you. God knows why, considering the amount of times I've revealed it." I suddenly feel embarrassingly coy about the whole flirtatiousness of the conversation. "I…I just don't understand why, I suppose." I reply meekly, unable to reach his gaze.

"It hurts me that you cannot understand, Annie. You are the most beautiful young lady I have ever known." At this sentence, I feel the armies of tears threatening to march down my cheeks. It is not just the fact that, in all my life, nobody other than my guilt ridden Mother has referred to me as such a thing, but the fact that he is right, I have never allowed myself to think of myself in such a positive sense. The most I would ever give myself in way of praise was always my firm sensibility. "Thank you. That…it means a lot to me, Finnick." And the droplets of salty teardrops race from the whites of my eyes to my trembling chin. Before I can anticipate what is happening, Finnick has risen from his sofa and has joint me on the one opposite, wrapping me in the warmth of his enfold. His bare arms entwine around my waist, and I feel the heat of him through shirt. I seize him closer to me, so I near that I can make out the faint whisper of a heartbeat, thumping against my own. "I'm sorry." He squeaks, and that is when I realise he is crying with me. He is lucky, an attractive crier, whereas I am sure I could not look further from the adjective. "I just…I can't…I don't want to try, Finnick. I don't want to think I can do this and then disappoint myself and everybody I care about when a knife is thrust in my direction and I am to unaware to dodge it. Or when I am longing so greatly for water that I begin to hallucinate. Or so many other ways. There are so many painful, excruciating and shameful ways to die in that arena. You've seen it. You've _been _there. I would rather just get the whole thing over with now." I confess, wiping my dripping nose on his sweatshirt but not busting the lock of our hug in the slightest. "No. You can't do that. I won't let you, you hear me?"

Suddenly the bizarreness of the position I am in hits me. Finnick Odair, the victor of the 65th Hunger Games, darling of the Capitol, in fact, all of Panem for that matter, begging me not to leave him, convincing himself that I will return from my little adventure unharmed. _Finnick Odair_. Isn't this every girl back in fours dream? To be clasped close in to the breastbone of such a heart throb, to be showered with such affection and admiration. If so, then why do I suddenly feel so angry, so confused and out of place? In less than a week I am certain I will be nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Why do I have to meet somebody so magnificent, so exciting, so_ right_ just as I am about to be put to my death? And most of all, why, has Finnick encourage our little rendezvous? Even if his feelings for me are truthful, surely he knows pursuing our friendship in to something more intimate is going to injure us before the games have even begun. "Why Finnick? Why the…why the _fuck _are you making out to feel such…such… fondness towards me? I've known you for five days, before then, you never even had knowledge of my name."

"I've been watching you for years, honey. Even before I was thrust in to the hustle and bustle of Capitol life, when you were still a child young and innocent enough to not be exposed to the reaping yourself. The black sheep of the merchant children, is what we all referred you too, a shock of mahogany sandwiched between the head upon head of angelic blonde. Though, it was much more than your hair colour that earnt you the nickname."

"What the…"

"I haven't finished. Every morning from the bedroom window of my old house I would watch you, hunting for treasures with your sisters in the shallows of the ocean. The fascination the place had over you, to some it might seem humorous, but to me, it had always been beautiful." He briefly punctuates a pause in order to let out a sad sigh. "When my sister died, the only thing that got me through it was the sight of you, sitting contented on the shore, paddling your feet in the water and tending to your fishhooks. Even then, your handiwork was incredibly impressive. My father brought many of the fishhooks from your family's shop, and I'd be in awe when I saw how secure they seemed to be. Your brother was in my year at the school, and when I first encountered this piece of information I was intrigued, but he didn't interest me much and the feeling was mutual. We did not speak, but I carried on admiring you from a far. It sounds perverted and creepy, I know, but to witness such an innocence, such a kindness…"

"A kindness, how is my time on the beach presenting any form of kindness?"

"The mad girl. The one you volunteered for. You'd often be with her, teaching her things and singing to her. I opened my window often, and hearing you recite the seabird song was a regular occurrence. Your voice was as pretty as any picture. Sometimes, you'd be with your sisters. You'd play games with the younger one and be a shoulder to cry on for the elder. I could tell by your body language, I didn't even have to hear the words exchanged, it was obvious you were the sort of girl who thought it of more importance to put others before herself. If I'm honest with you, Annie, it touched me. Really genuinely touched me and it led me to believe that the whole world was in fact not evil, that goodness still lurks in the most unexpected of places."

"I've changed a lot, from when I was a child. I've grown bitter and cold, I am not the same person."

"I disagree, why else would you so fearlessly offer to take the girls place? Besides, just because I returned to four a victor, does not mean that I stopped watching. Not just you, many other oblivious gentle children who did not yet realise what a cruel and painful world we are dictated in. When you volunteered, I was devastated. Why you? Of all the brats in that god damn district and you were the one who had to go. I had never, ever, expected to think of you of anything less innocent than a sisterly figure, or a strong acquaintance I would be sad to see be taken. Not…not this."

"Not what?" I ask, even though I am unsure whether or not I want to hear his response.

"I think its best I do not say. I don't want to hurt either of us and I'm sure you feel the same."

"I am already hurt with little chance of healing. Broken beyond complete repair. You might as well say it, say what you've been trying to get at for the past half of an hour."

"I think I love you, Annie."

I flee from the once impossible seeming scene as quickly as I had allowed myself to melt in to his arms. I am aware of Finnick calling me back to him, begging for a chance to explain and to continue comforting me, but his affections have became too much to bare. A friendly face, somebody to lift a little of the heavy load I'm currently carrying on my shoulders. Not this. Not for somebody, the somebody that I am meant to put all my trust and faith in, to fall in love with me. I cannot love him back. I cannot feel anything more than a faint dusting of positivity towards him, I cannot afford to, I have way to much at stake. But I cannot pretend to be besotted with him, to be transfixed and touched by his kind words, because, the truth is, it terrifies me. If somebody as popular and adored as Finnick felt such affection towards me, then did I really know myself at all? The dull, sarcastic teenager I had always known myself as, just an illusion? How could someone as appreciated as he, be so intrigued by a boring, pessimistic sixteen year old? The obscurity of the situation is smothering, and I find myself back in that terrible place where I am struggling to catch any air in my mouth. I urge myself to scream, but my body is adamant to keep me imprisoned in this agony. As if by some sort of twisted fate, Noah chooses that moment to invade my privacy. "Annie…good god…are you okay? Are you…having that panicky attack thing again? Should I get Finnick?" I shake my head as violently as my current state will allow me. "Um…um…okay, calm down. Just try, try really hard to breathe. You're okay, you're going to be okay…just breathe…" His hands are positioned in the exact same spot as Finnick laid his. I still feel them vividly, as if the memory of our embrace had been tattooed there for all eternity. "Finnick…he told me to come after you. He said you were upset…but I didn't realise…are you sure you're okay? Because if you're not, we could just let the others know and…" "I…I…I'm…fin..e." I manage to say in a whisper.

"Are you sure? Shall I get you some water or something?"

"No…not…thirsty. Just need…to…rest. Stay…with me?" My breathing has relaxed a little now, increasingly returning to its regular pace. "Just for a little while? Until I am able to sleep?" I do not want to be alone right now. I don't trust my thoughts to stay put in their tightly locked sections in my brain and I don't want to risk my having another attack. Besides, maybe knowing I am in here cuddled up with Noah will convince Finnick I am not as wonderful as he has seemed to of interpreted me. Of course, it may possess him to make my games as miserable as he can with his power, but somehow, this seems to be mattering less and less to me as time passes by. "Of course." Noah looks shocked but willing. We lay curled around each other fully clothed on my bed, Noah humming the famous seabird song sung to unsettled baby's back home, until Florrie's sleeping pills transport me to the peaceful trance of slumber.

I sleep past breakfast. According to Florrie's irritated tones she has been calling for me to wake for over an hour. Today is our interview preparations. As Noah had been up and ready some hours before myself he had first choice of what activity he would do first; technique or presentation. Obviously, he chose a light hearted chatter with Finnick to ease him into the day rather than a grilling from the ever-anxious Florrie, so it looked like I had pulled the short straw. Florrie's idea of technique is basically how to present oneself to an audience. She explains to me she knows a lot about this herself, thanks to her many years as an escort. She shares her secrets of how she readies herself for her 'time in the spotlight' as she refers to it. I am ordered to dress in ridiculously lengthily dresses and tall uncomfortable shoes, that are apparently named 'high heels'. Besides enduring all this, I am also expected to paint a perfect smile on my face and to keep my shoulders in accurate line with my neck. Fortunately, she seems to realise how hopeless I am at these activities and gives in half way through. She spends the rest of the morning tapping away in to a portable machine I have never encountered before, and I distract myself from my troubles by tying complicated knots with my rope in the security of my bedroom. By the time lunch comes around, I am significantly a lot more mediated and optimistic than I had been a couple of hours prior. I even manage to shovel down three different dishes and a desert, accompanied by numerous amounts of hot chocolate and orange juice, of course. I attempt light conversation with the ladies, about things that are of the upmost importance to them, but simply humorously pathetic to myself. However, I avoid anything that could be considered as physical or verbal contact with the boys, especially one of them in particular. I do not let my glance fall on Finnick once, even though I can feel his eyes burning in to my back to the point I am very close to losing my temper with him. In between lunch and our next preparation, we are allowed twenty minutes to get our bearings before heading off to wherever we were assigned to go next. I stay clear of the blue room, because I know that is where Finnick will be lounging, and I don't want to speed up the confrontation we are destined to have. However, whilst making my way to my chambers, Noah insistently blocks my path. "I don't know what the hell's gone on between you two, but you need to sort it out, like, now." He demands in a voice with more authority then he obtains. "You don't know anything about it, so keep out, will you?"

"I know that Finnick is incredibly upset about whatever it is. To the point that it sort of put a bit of a downer on my presentation session, so, I think I have the right to be informed."

"I'm sorry. It was just some stupid argument. I can't even remember the topic in which it started from. I'm really sorry it messed up your presentation, Noah, honest I am." I say to settle down the lively pangs of guilt I am feeling fling themselves against my stomach. "Forget about it, it's no big deal. I'm just worried about you both."

"Don't be!" I assure him with an enthusiastic grin. "And if it makes you feel better, Florrie and I spent most of our technique session is separate rooms." I say, giving him a mischievous wink, so unfitting to the real Annie, but so suited to the one that I was seeming to find more and more exhilarating to play.

Seeing him, smothered by blue and lounging on the very couch in which we shared in that moment of intimacy brings the memories of the night before back to the front of my mind. I want to run, to hide and ignore his presence for the rest of my time here, but something, I'm still, to this day, unsure as to what, brings any thoughts of making a getaway to a firm halt. "Annie, hey. Sit down." He instructs. "Okay, well, we need to think about how we're to present you to the audience. So far I think they've been getting mixed messages about you…" I zone out from there. Why is he behaving so normally, as if the drama that occurred the night before was merely a dream? For a moment I start to consider if it was in fact me subconsciously exiting reality. But surely, I couldn't feel so battered and bruised from something that had simply been a figurement of my imagination? I wasn't that far buried in to insanity, not yet. "You're acting as if nothing has happened. Why? Why are you doing that?" And the mask falls. His face suddenly twists with frustration and agitation, making him obtain an expression so ugly, so frightening, I had to check twice that he was still the person who had sat before me just seconds before. "For goodness sake, Annie. I'm your _mentor_. What I said last night, it was all bullshit, okay? My emotions, they sometimes get the better of me, this job isn't easy, you know? And you're a good kid, over the years of spying you through my window, I had subconsciously grown close to you. But last night? I was subconsciously lying. Forget all about it." "I don't believe you. You love me. You love me as much as I wish I could allow myself to love you." I shoot back at him, before I can anticipate the words my lips are forming. "I hate it, Finnick. I hate it, I want it to all just go away. I want to go _home_. I want to be allowed to love you. I'm not a kid, not really, not anymore. I have dreams, Finnick. I have ambition. I am to full of the stuff to die."

"I'm not going to let you die. Which is why we need to get this preparation done. Now."

"Okay. So, you have any ideas? Because I think both of us know so far I've been coming across as pretty limp."

"You had been, until the careers took you on and you scored that nine. Now people are seeing that feisty side of you, being shown your spirit and determination. I want you to act sweet and likable, but so driven by all that ambition to live a good life that you are prepared to do anything you can to win the games, okay?"

"Okay. So what now?"

"We'll do a practice run. I'll be Ceaser."

"Okay."

"Annie, welcome, welcome! You look_ fabulous_, doesn't she folks?" Finnick imitates the television presenters nasally accent to a rather high standard.

"Thank you, Ceaser. As do you."

"Good. That's good, compliment him as much as you can get away with, it will make him warm to you, and the audience always loves a charmer. Now, Annie. What's it like having the hunky Mr Odair as a mentor, eh?"

"He wouldn't ask that, Finnick. Don't screw this up for me."

"You'd be surprised. I spend probably more time in the Capitol than I do back home nowadays, you know, being a Capitol sweetheart and all." He replies in a mocking tone, giving me a little pout that looks more frightening than gorgeous. I cannot help it when I erupt in to laughter. "Seriously though, what has it been like, do tell…"

"Interesting Ceaser, let me tell you that. He is certainly quite the character. "

"I can imagine! Oh what a lucky thing you are to be in such close proximity to him!"

"You wouldn't be saying that if you heard his horrendous shower singing or disgraceful table manners."

"Oh! Oh! We have a cheeky one here!"

"You're really getting in to this, aren't you?"

"In to what, Annie, darling?"

"Never mind."

"So, Annie, I must ask. When you volunteered for that poor lamb at the reaping, you had us all out here in floods of tears. May I ask, did your friend come and say goodbye to you?"

"Yes, she did."

"And…whatever did she say?"

"That she loved me, mainly, I don't think she understood what was properly going on."

"Yes, of course. Well! That's your time up missy! Can we have a round of applause for the _fabulous _Ms Cresta!" The emphasis Finnick puts on the 'fabulous' triggers another unattractive giggling fit from me. I can't believe I ever mistook his sense of humour for arrogance. "Brilliant. You answer his questions like you did with me just then tonight, and you'll have them all eating out of your hands. Trust me."

"I do."

"Good. I didn't mean to sound so harsh with you earlier, Annie."

"So you're saying its true? You were lying?"

"I really don't know, things are to complex. We still can't guarantee your homecoming…and the age difference, the way the public would think of it…it makes things all the more complicated."

"Are you implying I'm not worth the trouble?" It's strange. I had spent all of last night praying for Finnick to have misinterpreted his feelings for me, but now he is, I feel even more alone and furious at him than I did when our roles were reversed. "I'm involved with other women, Annie. It's nothing serious, I cannot stand most of them, but the Capitol, they encourage it. I'm a celebrity here, you must understand. Being with you…as much as I long to be, could ruin the both of us."

"I'm already ruined. And I don't think you're in tip top shape yourself."

"Annie…"

"I'll die. As soon as I get in there, I'll let myself be stabbed or shot or ripped apart but muttions. Maybe I'll even do the job myself if I must. Life is not worth living. Not even if I win this thing. Not when other people deserve it more, not when others _want_ it more than I do. _Need _it more.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not! Nobody needs me, my parents have three other children, two daughters, both prettier, more intelligent and easier to understand than I am. Ava has her mother, who will never fail to protect her. My friends from school, to them I am just another source to collect gossip from, a shoulder to cry on when a boy breaks their heart or their families are in all sorts of trouble. I have no real significance, not to any of them, not to anyone. Some kids here, some of them are all somebody in one of these other districts have."

"You think you don't deserve it?"

"No, I _know_ I don't deserve it. None of us do."

"Then what, you're suicidal? You _want_ to die?

I allow myself to think about this next observation for a moment. "I have no desire to die. But I feel lucky. I have had a good life full of loved ones and laughter, if I win the games and win such riches my life will not be improved as much as it would improve other tributes. The pain of losing me will not scar as deeply as those whose child is all they have left."

"So you're putting others before yourself?"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"Which is something you've done your whole life. You need to…you need to realise that sometimes it is okay to think for yourself and nobody but yourself, Annie."

"I know but…"

"Stop doubting yourself. Stop trying to act so…so…perfect. So flawless. Nobody's like that, and I don't think anybody should be. Nobody's asking you to go out and murder as many tributes as you can in the most outrageous of ways, we're just asking you to try your best to survive. You deserve as much as chance of winning as any of the other tributes, and deep down, I think you're aware of that."

"You really think I can do it?" I ask, my gaze locked on his, my lips trembling with anticipation.

"Yes, I really think you do it. I really think you can win."

"Okay." I reply, composing myself back in to a state of togetherness. "I'll do all that I can do."

"No, Annie. Do all that you need to do."

"Okay, I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

Authors Note:

Hey!:)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter to whom may ever be reading this, I certainly enjoyed writing about the rapidly increasing romance between Annie and Finnick. There's just a few little things I wan't to clear up really, as I've been having a bit of trouble with this account recently.

Firstly, I have no idea if all of my 6 followers (WOAH;)) can even see this as I deleted Tidal-Wave, in hope to make a more grammatically correct and edited version. However, I couldn't find the Hunger Games section, and started freaking out and thought I'd never be able to write anymore fan fiction as I could literally could not find the section _anywhere. _But then, after playing about on the site for a bit, I found I was not only able to retrieve it, but able to edit my chapters without making a new story, something that had I known before I started this whole hullabaloo, would of made my evening a whole lot less stressful. Anyway, I have edited the chapters as thoroughly as I could be bothered to, which alone took at least an hour to do. So, yeah, if any of you are reading this, and want to follow this story back due to my lack of computer skills removing your follow, please do!

Also, I would like to dedicate this chapter to Philip Seymour Hoffman, who brilliantly played the wonderful Plutarch Hevensbee in the _Hunger Games_ movies that have been released and those scheduled to follow. Though I feel his loss careless and infuriating, I am saddened by it deeply. My thoughts and best wishes go out to his family and friends, and I hope he rests in peace. _  
_

Lauren x


	8. The Mistake

I stare at the divine apparel laid before me. I am in awe, as I take in every inch of the magnificent gown Tabiotha has created for me. From neckline to ankle, it is stained with every shade of blue and green imaginable. Sky, royal, jade, teal, among countless others. It is woven in to the shape of a ball gown, with a tight fitting bodice transforming in to a waterfall of fine netting, halting at my feet. I am permitted to wear my pearl necklace from home and a delicate crown embodied consistently with both sapphire and emerald. Due to the length of the outfit, Tabiotha allows me to wear my reliable training plimsolls beneath it.

"Well, you had better go try it on then!" My stylist demands in a cheery tone, obviously recognising how taken aback I was by her work. "Can I? The interviews don't start for hours yet." I reply, apprehensive about slipping in to the beauty and ruining its magnificence. "Yes, I need to see if I should make any last minute alterations." So, I self consciously dethatch myself from my comfortable joggers and thin t-shirt, and begin to lift the dress carefully above me. "And your bra. It won't look right if we leave it." I turn my back to her and awkwardly try and unhook my undershirt, but the task proves to difficult, and Tabiotha has to do it for me. She also assists me on heaving the surprisingly heavy gown over my head and in to position. After at least ten minutes of fussing and straightening, she takes a large step behind her current position and admires her work. After a few moments of disheartening silence, I realize my friend has begun to cry. Slow droplets of water pouring on to her immaculately painted features, causing them to stain any areas of skin in close proximity to them with their hues. "Tabiotha…are you okay?" I ask, growing increasingly frightened. Before this moment, more faith in my actually winning these games than faith in seeing a woman as proud as Tabiotha resort to tears. "Yes…yes…I am absolutely fine. A little overwhelmed, that is all, you really do look quite beautiful, darling." She replies, pulling herself together and approaching my face to plant two soft kisses. "Quite beautiful." She whispers in my ear, before floating out of the room to fetch the rest of my team.

Florrie, Flosa and my ditzy assemble of beauticians all let out squeals of delight and excitement when they see me, dressed my interview outfit, and for one of the only times since my arrival, and certainly the first that I let any Capitol citizen witness, a genuine smile. Noah is grinning from ear to ear, already dressed in his own outfit, a tuxedo with the same muddle of greens and blues that stain my dress. Finnick is standing the farthest away from me, but the slight smile that plays on his lips, full with sunshine and love, makes me feel closer to him than I ever have before. I could suddenly read his mind, no matter how entangled with nightmares and horror and regret it may be, I can tell that he thinks I look wonderful. In this moment, I feel the sincere and easy happiness I suspect arose inside of Ava when somebody graces her with a hug. It feels heavenly. "So, you like it?" I ask, although of course I already know the answer from their delighted reactions. "Darling, you look utterly _gorgeous_." The man with the silver implanted teeth exclaims.

"A complete transformation. An outstanding job, Tabiotha, really. I don't know how you manage it!" Adds salmon face.

" Thank you, Roctoba but I had a pretty excellent canvas to work with, I've got to admit." Tabiotha replies, flashing a smile in my direction. Florrie orders Noah to stand beside me so she can get' a proper look at us.' When we do, she bursts in to a fountain of false tears. "Oh my, we really have got some special ones this year! How I'll be sorry to see them go!" She cries melodramatically in the direction of a certain someone. As expected, Finnick strides over and comforts his college, winking at me as he rests his head on her shoulder. "Right, you guys. I don't want much done to her, you hear? Just a little shadowing here and there, to illuminate things, her best and most important features. The eyes and the lips especially, lay off the powder and foundation though, you hear?" Finnick instructs. "And the boy, Mr Odair?"

"Oh…" Finnick replies, as if he had forgotten all about Noah's presence. "As little as you can get away with. We want him to look boisterous and as far from feminine as possible."

"Shall we get started now, or do you want to wait a while? We must be at the staging area for half seven and it is fast approaching five, and we have to eat yet."

"Yes, we might as well, you lot will need to accompany us down there though, in case we need any last minute touch ups."

So once again, Noah and I are taken to be blemished. Round the back of the large female dressing room is a small area sectioned off pacifically for the use of the hair and make-up team. I imagine there is a similar arrangement in the male dressing room, as Noah is nowhere to be seen. First, I am stripped and bathed in several different excruciating solutions. Then, I am once again waxed of all my body hair, even though it had only started to grow back in clusters of neat stubble. After these two traumatising experiences, I am more than ready to curl up and complain about the agony I had just endured to Finnick, but my team are far from finished with me yet. My hair is pulled, trimmed and steamed. My nails shaped, polished and filed. The beautician with the bizarre facial tattoo's plucks and pinches my delicate eyebrows until they become a perfect arch shape. When the 'beauty base one' is completed, my eyelids are smothered with a shadowy green power and my lips coloured in deep rouge. Then I feel the pressure of my eyes being heavily outlined with what I imagine to be kohl, and a light dusting of face tint settling on my skin and neckline. After what seems to feel like hours, I am done. Looking in the mirror one of the beauticians provides me with, I am taken aback. My hair, once so wild and untameable, has been set in gentle silky waves lapping the shore of my naked back. My face is painted, pencilled and shaded with a variety of vibrant hues in which I once only saw modelled on fixtures of nature, never a human being. The soft, discreet outline of my pert breasts are previewed when I set my body at a certain angle, and my shoulders no longer slump in distain but lift with a bout of self assurance. I do not look like me. I do not look plain, or pretty even. I would not even describe myself as beautiful. The only adjective I can conjure up is, that I look victorious.

When I enter the front room of the apartment, a spring of confidence very much in my step, I am surprised to see my team seems to have a new member. Sandwiched between Noah and Finnick, an elderly women is sipping from a mug of something familiarly sweet smelling and laughing at Finnicks mediocre attempts at humour. My prediction she is native is proven by he scent of seafood and ocean air, the intensity in her overcast green eyes. Valley eyes. Then suddenly it comes to me, like a wave you stand in the sea waiting for what seems like hours for, to embrace and bring you to shore. Its Mags Cohen. "Annie! Hey, it completely slipped my mind to inform Noah and you but…"

"Annie, darling. You are even more beautiful in the flesh. Finnick was right." The timeworn victor raises from her seat and makes her way over to me. It takes a while, but not as long as I expect, considering her age. She must be at least eighty by now, yet she still has enough pride to walk without the assistance of a cane. When she finally reaches me, she kisses her left hand and raises it to my cheek, the sun suddenly peaking through the dreary clouds in her pain stricken eyes. Her smile is uplifting, a slight grin, painted top to bottom with hope and admiration. Though I have never met her before, in fact I had forgotten all about her, I know straight away I will feel very warm towards her, despite the lack of time we will have to get to know one another. There are eight surviving victors in four at the moment, and Mags Cohen is by far the most ancient. In fact, I think she may be the eldest victor to still be living. Before Finnick was old enough to mentor on his own, Mags had the job, whilst the others either spent their lives partying in the Capitol or tangled beyond release in a web of deep depression. Mags had stopped accompanying Finnick a couple of years prior, as she suffered a minor stroke and the Capitol deemed her unfit to mentor. However, a lot of the residents in our district would gather to wave her off when she insisted on attending the interviews on the final night. I guess I had to many other worries and anticipations racing through my mind to even consider the visiting of dear old Mags arriving to see Noah and I off. "Mags, it is so lovely to finally meet you." I reply, bending down carefully as not to step on my gown, to give her a dry kiss on the cheek. "Finnick's told me so much about you, darling. If I didn't know any better, I say he was besotted by you!" She jokes, pulling me over, at a remarkable force for her condition, to join her on one of the sofas. Finnick gives me a knowing wink. "Isn't he with everyone though?" I joke back, trying to keep my tone steady but light. "I _like_ her. Very charming, and funny too. I know we're going to have the most wonderful evening. Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"No thank you, I think I may have a little with supper though."

"It shouldn't be much longer." Finnick informs me. "And if it is then we'll be damned, we have to be there for seven thirty, earlier if we can manage it." He is acting strange. Nervous, even, wringing his hands at a high speed and trying to best to divert his eyes from any sort of contact. Such uncharacteristic behaviour for the Finnick I know. I want to flee from Mags clutch on my naked arms and go to him, wrap them around him, tell him everything is going to turn out just fine. But obviously, that's completely out of the question, so instead I try to throw a few reassuring smiles in his direction instead.

Dinner arrives minutes after, and the stylists and Florrie are yet to make an appearance. "Where are they?" Finnick growls in a aggravated tone. "I will not let them ruin this for you! Little fucking…"

"Finnick, please. Manners. If they don't grace us with their presence soon, they're just simply going to have to go without, aren't they?" Mags interrupts, in an attempt to defuse him.

"And have the complain every two minutes about how ravished they are? Expecting to me to sprout words of empathy and kindness…"

"I will deal with them, don't you worry. Just eat something, will you. Noah and Annie need you to be on best form tonight." She encourages, giving him a gentle pat on the back as she makes her way steadily to the buffet table. Noah, who is already there piling his plate high, serves her. As he does this, she kisses her hand and lift it to his cheek, as she had done to me earlier. I guess it's her way of showing gratitude, or something. Three mugs of hot chocolate two bowls of pumpkin soup and several pieces of bread later, the ladies burst through the doors of the dining room, not a hint of regret creeping through their heavily made up faces. "Where the hell have you been?" Finnick barks immediately. "In the dressing room, chit-chatting, of course." Florrie replies, oblivious or simply not acknowledging his enraged tone. "Well, you better hurry, we haven't got much time." Mags continues as before Finnick even has a chance open his mouth and say something of a more sour remark. "We know, we _know_. Gosh Maggie, sweetheart, I have been doing this job for almost as long as you, have I not? I know how it all works, believe it not."

"I didn't imply you didn't, honey. Just think you need reminding now and then." Noah and I try desperately to contain the wave of awkward laughter rising inside of us. I'm somewhat shocked to see that Finnick doesn't find Mags attitude towards Florrie amusing though. He seems completely unfazed by the scene, staring blankly in to the empty space before him at the end of the table, seeming dangerously lost in thought. I could not just sit and ignore it. Pretending to have my eyes set on another mug of hot chocolate, I make my way over to him. "You okay?" I whisper in his hear. He jumps with a start at the sound of my voice. "Hey, calm down. Its just me. You're acting weird, you sure you're alright?"

"Peachy." He replies in a cheery voice that shakes ever so slightly. Neverless, I know I can't get much more out of him at this present time, so I gently touch his shoulder and move on, vowing to get to the bottom of this mystery in the blue room later that evening.

Once we have finished eating, it has just gone seven o'clock, and due either reluctant to remain in this uncomfortable atmosphere or eager to arrive as early as possible, Finnick instructs the team to start making its way to the backstage area. Finnick, Noah, Tabiotha and I cram in to one lift, and our other three companions make their way to the other. Our location is buried even deeper below ground than the training centre, and takes what seems like a good ten minutes to arrive at our destination. When we do, we discover we are the first ones to arrive. Satisfied by the solitude, I take Finnicks hand and lead him to the far corner of the room. "Okay, so what's wrong?" I ask, when we're beyond hearing distance of the others. "Nothing. I'm just anxious for you." I reply to this lame confession with a very sarcastic and at least moderately humorous expression, but still he does not even release a polite chuckle. "Finnick, seriously, you're starting to worry me now."

Before he can make excuses for himself, I finally find out the answer to my consistent questions about his disorientated state. The lift we had just exited opens and out saunters Shimmer, Merlin and their mentor, Cassandree Diamond. Slender and petite yet busty and athletic, she has every girl's idea of a perfect frame. A waterfall of frosted white hair, weaved with prominent electric pink highlights, skims her narrow waist. Her eyes are as grey as the summer sky, right before it is stricken by an unsettling storm. Her outfit is a vibrant shade of orange and so skimpy I am unable to determine whether it is a dress or a t-shirt. Her large breasts bounce wildly as she races towards us, her insanely tall black stilettos barley holding her upright. "Finnick! Baby, how I've missed you so!" Cassandree confesses, before planting a slobbery kiss right in the centre of his mouth. "It's such a drag that the officials wouldn't let you out to meet me. Like we haven't done enough for _them_ in the past few years."

I feel as though I can physically feel my fragile heart falling to deepest depths of my body. Reaching the ground and shattering in to a cluster of razor sharp shards. I want to retrieve one of them, separating my flesh with it to let the red river flow freely. To forget. To relieve myself. To focus on anything other than the agonizing scene being played out before me. He has fixed his gaze on me. Her arms are evolving him and his own rest on her exposed back but he his eyes are not closed in relief or happiness, neither locked intently on her desirable appearance. They are entwined with my own, sharing all the hurt, the pain, and the heartbreak I am enduring. But it's not enough. Feeling betrayed and aching with self-loathing, I turn away from him, breaking the connection that I had once believed was ever lasting.

Distractions. That's the key. A piece of advice I have drummed in to myself for too long to abandon now. I find Noah on the other side of the room exchanging easy banter with Merlin. Shimmer is balancing on the edge of the conversation, arms crossed and expression disinterested. It occurs to me that I must be in a pretty awful state of mind if I even consider trying to strike up a conversation with her, but then I remind myself, a distractions and distraction no matter how unpleasant it may seem. "Shimmer, hey! Great training score." I say, before I remember that she obtained the lowest out of the six of us. "Is that some kind of joke, Cresta?" She replies defensively.

"No! No, sorry, I was just trying to making conversation."

"Can't you go make conversation elsewhere? I'm busy."

"Doing what? You seem pretty unoccupied to me."

"That's because it's my _thought_s I am occupied with. I am trying to put the finishing touches to my game plan. And I don't intend to let you lure me in to slacking on such an important task."

"Oh…well…maybe I could help you with it?"

"No, thank you. Now, run along."

Usually, her patronising me would infuriate me so much I'd have no choice to walk away in fear I'd say something I'd later come to regret. But tonight, my need for disturbance from my sorrow overrules my need to be aggravated by her.

"I like your dress."

I am not lying. A flimsy shrimp dress, the bodice blanketed in glitter and the skirt soft cotton that gracefully falls to her knees. Very district one.

"Thanks."

"You know when Shadow and Meeti are coming down?"

"No, but I hope for both our sakes it's soon, because I don't think I can stand another minute of your rambling."

And with that, she storms off to where Finnick and his supposed lover is standing. For a while, I just walk around in a trance, trying to past the time by eavesdropping on everybody's conversations. Noah and his new best pal seem to be joking and gossiping about the extravagant nature of those who live in the Capitol, and occasionally mocking a weaker tribute. It goes without saying this disappoints me of Noah, but I don't have the strength to convince myself it was anything more than a ploy to get Merlin thinking we were as cold hearted as the rest of the careers. Tabiotha is chatting quietly to the stylists from district one about a new boutique that had recently opened and Florrie and Flosa bitch cattily about Merlin's alarmingly vibrant pink tuxedo. Mags is standing beside them, but is obviously not engaged in the conversation in the slightest. Spotting me wandering around hopelessly, she ushers me over at once.

"Are you okay dear? Whatever is the matter?"

"I'm fine. Just a little frightened, I suppose."

"You'll do just fine, a pretty thing like you. Just smile and compliment and maintain a little self confidence, and they'll all fall in love with you in a heartbeat."

Her choice of words assemble those armies of tears again. I try to halt them, but it is no use, I am to fatigued to any control over anything. "Oh, sweetie, don't cry, oh precious." She fumbles in the back pocket of her skirt and retrieves a crumpled handkerchief that she dabs at my damp cheeks. "Is it about…" She indicates in the direction of the individual who is undoubtedly responsible for my distress. "How did you know?"

"Well, let's see, he is the most ruthless heartbreaker in the whole on Panem. Not to mention the most charming and by far the most attractive. I can't think of one female tribute we've had since he won who has not fallen for him at least a little, there was even a boy who did."

"Does he…does he encourage it, usually?"

"A little. He can be ever so naughty when he wants to be, I see it as my job to keep the little horror in line. Why, you think he's encouraged you in some way?"

"You could say that. He…he… He told me he loved me yesterday." I admit before I give myself to think about releasing such a dangerous confession.

The loving sympathetic expression of Mags face transforms in to one of utter confusion. "Are you sure, Annie, honey? I doubt he would say something of such…

"He did! Ask him yourself. And now, I see him with _her. _That's why he was so on edge at dinner." I raise my voice loud enough to earn the attention of the entire room, which now consists of its earlier residents plus several other tributes and their teams, including Shadow and Meeti. Humiliated and miserable, I back away from Mags and sit on a cushioned loveseat positioned at the other side of the room, not too far away from_ him_. I try to ignore it, but I can feel him surveying me, his eyes boring in to my unveiled flesh. I wonder if they had ever wandered since my departure. Please say they haven't. Because despite all this, I still long for him. Long for his touch and his affections, his up-most attention and passionate caresses.

Finally, its time. The televisions supplied backstage suddenly come to life, Ceaser Flickermans enthusiastic face plastered across the screen. He is wearing the same suit as he does annually, midnight blue, covered in bizarre twinkling light bulbs. This year, he has had his lips, slicked back mane and even his eyelids in the green that dictates Finnick's eyes. Great, another reminder, another thing to pull my attention away from what I so desperately need to focus on. "Welcome, everybody, welcome to the official interviews with the tributes of this years, 70th _Hunger Games_!" His energy and eagerness may seem refreshing and humorous to those who are in a pleasant mood as he, but it just makes my head ache.

Shimmer is on first. The girly, charismatic young girl on the stage seems like as far away from her true colors as she could possibly get, but I have to admit, Cassandree made a good call on advising her to abandon that exterior. The crowd loves her, roaring at her flirtatious antics and cooing at her series of pouts and twirls. Merlin is just as impressive, blowing kisses to the audience and basically acting _very _Finnick Odair. Suddenly, I can remember how I used to despise the man I was now besotted with when I first acquainted with him.

Shadow is fierce and cheeky, outraging the stage with her crude jokes and callous nature. Meeti is portrayed as intelligent and superior, hooking the audience with his exciting tales of battles and intense training back home, making it seem like the games were just another thing for him to add to his list of achievements. Before I know it, the boy from district three is making his way to the stage and I am next. The girl from his district was witty and calculating, oozing with confidence in her ability. How am I to beat such intriguing, such interesting and effortlessly likable individuals? I think I feel another attack of panic beginning to rise inside of me, when I feel that familiar hand resting on my arm. I look up at him briefly, catching a glimpse of his saddened eyes and reluctant smile. "It's time." He whispers. "Do me proud." Gently pushing me towards the direction of the stage.

The lights are blinding and the noise deafening. For a moment, I am convinced I can see nothing but endless brightness and that the sound has become so loud it has cancelled itself out. This is only for a couple of seconds though. When I wobbly make my way to centre stage, where Ceaser is waiting in his famous golden chair, I am greeted by overwhelming praise and cheers of thousands, maybe millions, seeming utterly delighted by my presence. I cannot help but to wave sheepishly, trying to maintain humble and composed. "Ms Cresta! You look absolutely magnificent, doesn't she folks?" Flickerman recites to the crowd before I have even taken my seat. Again, the figures before me let out a mighty roar. "Thank you, Ceaser, as does your lovely self!" Apprehensive he may not be able to hear me reply, even with a microphone wound around my ear, I say this in a tone as loud as I can muster without shouting. Somehow, it seems upbeat and friendly, not at all forced or over exaggerated. "Oh, what an absolute sweetheart you are! Now, please, tell us, how are you feeling about tomorrow's events?"

Finnick hadn't asked me this question. He hadn't told me what to say in response to it. I feel myself enter a state of panic, as I search my mind for something, anything, reasonable to say, when I acknowledge my mouth leaking a close to perfect answer. "To be honest with you, Ceaser, I cannot pretend I am not frightened. It's a scary situation, you know? But let's just say I am pretty confident in my ability to do well, I am too young to die, at least without a damn good fight!"

"Feisty and charming, what more could we wish for, eh folks?" Ceaser chuckles. "Now, Annie, since arriving in the Capitol you've been the topic of some _very _interesting conversations. A pretty young lass like yourself, volunteering for a hopeless retard whom, let's be honest, would not be to large of a loss to your district. So, let's get down to the big question, why'd you volunteer, sweet pea?

Swallowing down the burning infuriation that is scarring my throat, I force a modest smile. "I couldn't let somebody so vulnerable be reaped, Ceaser. I often think with my heart and lesser my head. How could I allow a girl like that become a tribute, to bring mockery to my district and sorrow to her widowed mother, when I felt I felt I had a good chance of winning the games myself?"

"_Great_ answer. What a saint, eh, ladies and gentlemen? What a selfless little treasure! So, enough with the dull serious questions, tell us, what is it like being in such close radius to the lustful Mr Odair, hmm?"

I feel the corners of my mouth shape in to a slight grin, remembering Finnick himself asking me that very question earlier that day. "Well, he's certainly a character, I can tell you that Ceaser!"

"Well of course, _everybody_ knows that! Tell us something we don't know…"

"Hmm…well, where should I begin? His disgraceful attempts at humour or his terrible shower singing?" The crowd explodes with laughter.

"Oh my goodness, what a surprise, the Capitol's sweetheart isn't as perfect as we had once anticipated!" Ceaser reply's with a wink at the camera. "However, I still wouldn't refuse!" He adds, cheekily. I strain a amused chuckle. "Anyway, our time is almost up, and my gosh, isn't it a pity folks?"

"Aw, Ceaser, you're too sweet. And so are all of you!" I blow a handful of kisses in the direction of the audience, watching as they pathetically push each other out of the way to capture the empty air. "I am ever so thankful for such a wonderful array of support and how at home you have all made me feel! I can only hope to see you all again as soon as the games are over!"

"As do we, Annie, as do we! Now, before we bit you farewell, for now anyway, can you give us a rough idea of what to expect from our very own little mermaid in the arena?"

"I shouldn't give myself away to much…but as it's you, Ceaser! I'm more than a little able handed, and a whiz and hunting and gathering. Not to mention the fact that ambition and desire than a squad full of game makers! So don't count me out just yet!"

"How could we? You're_ far_ to fabulous to dismiss. With great regret though, I have to announce your time in the spotlight has come to an end." The crowd groans and I mock wiping away invisible tears. "I know, I know, but rules are rules! Now can I have a massive round of applause for the marvellous Annie Cresta everybody?"

I exit the stage to the melody of thumping hands and words of admiration. Noah is standing in front of the staging area, ready to make an entrance as soon as Ceaser finishes introducing him. I flash him a convincing smile and a light pat on the back, before allowing myself to breathe soundly again. However, I don't have the chance to do so.

Finnick is racing towards me, in a manner of great ecstasy and a face stained with pleasure and immense satisfaction. Before I can even form the words to greet him, he is pressing himself against me. His lips entangled in mine, glued together with just our compassion and desire for one another. He kisses me. A delicate, gentle butterfly of a kiss that teases me in to longing for more. His hands grasped on my face, bound to be stained with various brands of make-up when this heavenly moment is halted. My arms are still swinging by my sides, temptation mocking them to pull them to me, but common sense winning the battle. I want to stay in this moment for ever, entwined with him, occupied with he and I and nothing else. But I know I cannot.

I give a forceful step back, which causes Finnick to lose his balance and almost fall to the space in between us. Before he can steady himself, Cassandree bounds over and pushes him to violently to the ground. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?!" She cries before I or anyone else can. She fixates her gaze on me. I am to paralysed in disbelief to prepare myself for the painful force the back of hand brings to my cheek. I do not fall down like Finnick, but I immediately cup my hand around my injury, fighting of the tears that have once again gathered in my eyes. "Aw. Sorry, sweetie, did I hurt you?" She waits for me to feebly nod. "Then you aren't anywhere near tough enough to be part of the career pack, you pathetic little slut." She screams at me, her spit settling on nose and upper cheekbones. She turns on one heel, and walks away from us, Shimmer and Merlin following cautiously behind her. I see Shadow witnessing the whole bravado nearby, hands on her hips, her mouth and eyebrows stretched in to an unattractive frown. That's it. I've blew it. Finnick, the person who claimed to be so intent on me being victorious, has ruined all chances of me being remotely successful. Thanks to him, I've lost my place on the career pack.


	9. Becoming one

Authors Note: Hey, so just a brief warning, this chapter does contain a relative amount of sexual intercourse and language throughout. I never planned to get Annie and Finnick to take their romance so far so fast, but once I started writing, I couldn't stop! Also, I promise this is going to be the last chapter to do with the build up and training to the games, the chapter that follows this one, and the several that follow are going to be completely game focussed. I'm going through a tough time in my personal life at the moment, so I will probably proceed to update a chapter every night as I find writing a great therapy and escape mechanism for me. Lastly, please keeping reviewing and letting me know what you think of the story, it honestly makes my day to see I've got a couple new reviews or favourites on the story, motivates me to keep going and builds my self confidence immensely!

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As soon as Mags has helped Finnick to his feet, he is immediately moving at a great speed to catch up with Cassandree. I have no idea why, and the very action infuriates me, why console the very women who had banished any chance of my survival? Unless it was an act all along… a twisted and manipulative way to secure the safety of the other careers. Confused and hurt both physically and emotionally, I run in to the safety of Mags arms, and let myself evolve in her warmth and the scent of the sea back home. All my fellow tributes are staring at me, as I weep messily and bury my tear stained face in to the crook of her neck, but I no longer care about looking strong and self assured. There is no reason to pretend to be something I'm not, not anymore. I spy Noah over Mags slumped shoulder, his face tattooed with worry. Surely he cannot of been involved in Finnicks ploy? Not the gentle, kind hearted soul who I had come to love like I would a brother.

Just as a concerned sibling would, he detangles me from Mags embrace and wraps me in his own, demanding that somebody tell him what has happened whilst he was away. "Look, let's get back to the floor. I don't think it'd be wise to put on anymore of a show than necessary." Mags murmurs sombrely. The tears are still streaming, creating a variety coloured swirls on my face due to the various products of face enhancers, when Mags, Noah and I squeeze in to the elevator to take us back to our apartment. On the ride up, nobody says anything. Noah's hand is grasped around mine, both sweating with anticipation and fear. As soon as the devise opens, so does Noah's mouth. "What the hell's happened, Mags? Why her cheek all is inflamed? Why is she crying? Why the f…"

"Finnick kissed her. Cassandree wasn't over the moon about it, as you can imagine, and has near enough removed her from the pack." Mags explains, trying to keep her voice steady and professional, but faltering slightly, letting anger seep in to the sentence.

"He _what_?"

"You heard me, honey. As soon as you walked on to that stage he was all over her. This is the first year in at least a decade that they hadn't gotten all the tributes to stay on stage until the end of the show. At first, the decision seemed a positive one, what if a tribute felt the need to cry or breakdown, it would be hardly fair to display such distress on stage. But now I loathe it. If you hadn't of departed from that god damn stage then maybe you'd of still had a chance…"

"Don't speak like that, okay? She still has a chance. Even if the careers won't take her, I still will."

"Noah, no. You can't. You…"

The beep that indicates the opening of the elevator sounds. The three of us spin round in anticipation, only to be faced with the man himself. Finnick looks fatigued and run down, the twinkle in his eyes cast over, the glow in his golden skin banished, not at all in the correct state to be faced with the ambush of insults and questions Noah and Mags were bound to attack him with. "Before any of you say anything, let me say this. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me and…"

"Stop right there you bastard. What gives you the right to treat her like this, eh? Why the…"

"Noah, sweetie, you have every right to be upset, but why don't we let the toad tell us his side of the story, eh?" Mags mumbles.

"You're not out of the career pack, Annie. I spoke to Cassandree, told her that it was just my impulsive and erratic nature, that it didn't represent anything more than what an affectionate person I was. Somehow she believed it. She's going to inform the rest of them the pack will remain how it was before this whole…drama."

"And was it? Just a representation your lack of sensitivity and self control?" Mags questions, taking the words straight from my own mouth.

"Of course not…"

"So you two, all this time, you've been having some sort of sordid affair? How the hell is that fair on me?" Noah expresses, quite rightly so. I can imagine how awful this must seem from his viewpoint.

"That's not at all how it is. How it _was_, even, Noah, you have to believe that." I cry as he lets me fall from his embrace. "Tonight was the first time we kissed."

"Whatever. I can't bare to look at either of you right now. I'll be in my room, please don't disturb me." Noah announces in a dull tone, so opposite from his usual sunny one. He makes his way to his bedroom, banging the door shut with a mighty force. "I think you two need to talk, by yourselves. I am going to join the others back downstairs." Mags informs us, her voice and facial expression displaying great disappointment and concern. "Don't let him hurt you more than you're already hurting, sweet pea." She whispers in my ear as she departs, kissing her hand and placing it on my cheek as she goes.

"I can't believe you…" I begin as soon as the elevator doors swallow her.

"I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry."

"You should be. It was totally inappropriate."

"It didn't feel it. Not at the time."

"Am I really back in the pack?"

"Yeah, I can be pretty convincing when I want to be, especially when it comes to winning round females."

"Thank you."

"No problem, it's the least I could do."

"Are you going to keep pretending that the kiss meant nothing, or are we going to be honest with each other here?" I risked asking, struggling to keep my gaze entwined with his. "Being honest would be easier for us both, I think."

"I didn't want to make you stop."

"I didn't want you to either."

"I wish I didn't have to leave you tomorrow. I wish we could get away."

"As do I." His eyes are cold and shadowed with a mask that lets no emotion seep through it.

"Don't shut me out, Finnick. Please, don't do that to me."

His face begins to crumple and close in on itself, the sea he had so far tamed inside of himself unleashed, tears lashing down his face is uneven lines. "I can't let you in. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. I'm coming back, remember?" I say, making my way to the sofa in which he is sitting, wrapping my arms around his exposed neck, damp from the tears and covered in Goosebumps from the tension. "I remember. But even if I do, you won't stick around for long. You'll leave me. Nothing good ever lasts." He is bawling now, burying his trembling body in to my own, struggling to find the words to explain himself. Realising talking is a trouble to him, I decide to refrain from it. Instead, I hold his brawny shoulders at arm's length, rotating my head so it is symmetrical to his. Gently and slowly, I move closer, skimming my lips against his. Then, I force the weight of myself on him harder.

We are kissing once more. Exploring the unknown coves and secrets of each other's mouths and jaws, desperately trying to merge our souls to become one as if such a miracle could become possible with a caress filled with enough desire. Cautious we will be disturbed, and eager for as much intimacy as I can obtain, I force myself to unlock my lips from his grasp. Taking his hand, I lead him to the blue room, feeling so light it's as if I am flying. Finnick fumbles with the door knob, and we fall to the makeshift sand below. He is on top of me, his breath hot and heavy, his breathing unsteady and as erratic as this whole situation. I long for his touch. Not in a dirty perverted sense, I just want to able to feel his skin merged with mine, to become as close to him as I can. I guide his hand to my thigh, hitching my dress to my waist so he can caress it. "Shall…I…take…it…off?" I ask between kisses. Finnick nods in to my collarbone in approval. However, he does it for me, undressing me as gently as he would a child, or a ornament of great value. I return the favour, steadily unbuttoning his shirt, allowing his chest to embrace my bust. I feel his shaft growing increasingly stiff against my thigh. I know I should stop, that I am allowing him to take things to far, that I should be waiting to make this experience special. But what time do I have for that now? This time tomorrow, I could be nothing more than a carcass. My hands grip his hair as he makes his way downwards, dragging his lips across every inch of me, my sharp shoulder blades, awkward elbows, blossoming bosom and lastly my flat stomach. I feel like a goddess, showered in admiration and romance and passion. Finnick lets his chin float over my genitalia, still veiled with my panties. Instead, he nuzzles his face in between my thighs, kissing them softly. I begin to groan slightly, as he brings his lips nearer and nearer to the pot of gold waiting for him at the end of the cave. Suddenly, he stops, raising his head from between me in a way that would seem comical if it weren't for the circumstances. "Are you sure you want to go any further? I don't want you to think this is all you mean to me."

"Is it?"

"Of course not. I…I've…I've fallen in love with you, Annie."

"Then I want to go as far as possible."

"You, mean, like…you want to…make love?" He asks, his gaze lowering and flushes of crimson seeping on to his face.

"Sure. I don't see why not, it may be our only chance."

"Don't speak like that, please."

"I don't want to lie to you."

"You won't be." He replies, punctuating the sentence with a tender kiss on the mouth.

"I think I do too, you know."

"You think you do what?"

"Love you. Like, a lot."

My lover lets out a joyful laugh and hoists himself back up so his face is in line with mine. Our mouths embrace for a while, until, he leads his lips in a dance down my neck. I put my hand on his belt thigh, to let him know I am okay with him fulfilling every males desire. Slowly, he begins to hoist down his pants, his tool sufficiently harder and more solid without the protection of them. It is throbbing and searing but I do not mind. We help each other remove the remains of our modesty, and for a moment, we just lay there. Skin against skin, heart beating in an emerged pattern. Staring in to each other's eyes, taking in as much as we can of one another, bewildered by the situation and the passion and intensity we have seemed to of conjured up.

He tries to drive his manhood inside of me, but the gates prevent him from passing. After a couple of goes he does not persist, even though I long for him to do so. "I'm sorry…I…"

"Annie, its fine. If anything, I'm glad. I'd rather wait."

"That's a lie!" I accuse, bawling in shame.

"Don't cry, please. Don't." He begs, kissing away the tears that blanket my face once more.

"You can try again, I don't mind. Honest."

"I don't want to. Besides, it'll hurt, and the thought of causing you anymore harm is an unbearable one." He whispers.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course. In here, or your room?"

"Here. I want to be here, it's the closest we have right now to home. I want to feel as safe as I can."

"When the games are over, safety will be a way of life for you, I promise you that."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You need anything? Want me to fetch Florrie's pills, or something for you to drink?"

"No, I do not want to sleep yet. I want to savour this moment for as long as I can."

"Not for too long, you need to sleep." He reminds me, placing a peck on my forehead.

"Just another hour or so, please? I want to drink hot chocolate and talk about everything about anything and to be with you. Just for a little while?"

He lets out a defeated sigh. "Just for a little while, then. I'll gather some blankets and get an avox to make us some hot chocolate up. You'll be okay on your own until I get back?"

I give him a meek nod. Before he departs, Finnick sits me up against one of the sofa's and dresses my naked chest in his shirt. It is a rich emerald, and carries his blissful scent, the ingredients of which I cannot bring to mind, it's as though the aroma has been dedicated to him and him alone. I let him lift me on to sofa, my legs trembling between my ivory undergarments, due to both the room's lack of warmth and the surreal nature of this whole affair. "I'll be as fast as I can." Finnick promises, recognising this.

Every second he is gone feels like an hour, and I understand how needy and pathetic this may seem, but when an individual is in the most vulnerable position they could possibly be in, and the person takes away that vulnerability and horror for a while, that one person who makes them feel secure, is parted from them, it is hard to cope with. When he eventually returns, weighed down with blankets and balancing a tray of steaming hot chocolates, it takes all my strength not to leap in to his arms and make him promise to never leave me again. I feel that rundown and overtaken with emotion. As soon as he sits down, I cling to him like a newborn babe does with her mother. Settled and secure once more, I feel ready to speak again. "I'm guessing that wasn't the first time you've done that." I joke, secretly hoping it had been but knowing better than to wish for such miracles. Finnick releases an uneasy laugh. "No. But it has never felt like that before."

"What do you mean by that?" I reply suddenly fiercely self conscious of my performance.

"I never felt it much before that. It was uncomfortable and awkward and inconvenient. I wouldn't of chosen to take part I was permitted to decide."

"You mean, you weren't?" Unthinkable thoughts waltzing through my mind unstoppably.

"I don't want to talk about it, Annie. It's not important."

"It is to me."

"Okay…look...you promise not to freak out?"

"Why would I freak out…"

"It sounds worse than it is. I…Since winning the Capitol found a way to make use of me. They…well, let's just Snow came up with the marvellous idea of letting his people pay for my company."

"No…"

"Yes. It isn't always…intimate. But it often is. I despise it, but I cannot change it, not if I want my family and now you to live."

"That's…I wish you would of told me, Finnick."

"I just have."

"I meant I wish you would of told me sooner."

"It didn't seem an appropriate topic to bring up, I'm sorry, don't be mad."

"How could I be at you? Its Snow I want to punch in the face."

"Don't do anything silly because of it, I really am fine…"

"I'm not going to, I'm to sensible for that. But I'm allowed to voice my disgust about it, right?" I can tell I'm growing cranky and restless with him, my moodiness and disbelief fuelling an unnecessary argument. "Forget about it, okay?" He begs, nuzzling his face in to my breast bone.

"Okay. I don't condone it though. Not in the slightest."

Finnick chuckles. "I would be worried if you did. So, what about your previous experiences…"

My body turns stiff as the memory of my very first kiss is brought to the front of my mind. It had been my only kiss before the many exchanged with Finnick tonight, and something I had put a lot of effort in to forgetting about. Of course Finnick was to ask about it, I brought up his previous romantic history, so it was only fair he did the same to me. I should tell him, especially after the secret he had just trusted me with. But he is stronger than I, and more acquainted with being treated like nothing more than a particularly attractive slab of meat. Neverless, I must try. "I was thirteen." I begin, sitting upright and as far from Finnick as I possibly can, I cannot have him acknowledge how terrified I am to tell him, therefore he must not be permitted to touch me, must not try and meet my gaze. "My sister, you may have heard of her. She has…a reputation. Of sorts. I guess he just assumed we had fallen from the same tree…I didn't try and fight him off…I…"

"Who is this bastard? Do I know him."

"I shouldn't say.

"Please, Annie." Finnick pleads.

"Joseph Appleton." I squeak, praying that I was to quiet to be heard and that Finnick wouldn't have persist me to repeat it.

"What, the son of that couple who run the sweet shop?"

"Yes."

"Oh my god…"

I suddenly feel very defensive of Joseph. "Look, it isn't as terrible as it seems. We didn't…we didn't do anything. I'm…I'm a virgin." I confess, bowing my head in shame at this revelation.

"What happened then?"

I consume as much air as my lungs can consume, composing and preparing myself for what I am about to say. I feel moronic, getting in such a distressed state about have my breasts touched without consent. But, if to me it is a difficult story to tell, I think to myself, Finnick will appreciate my sharing it with him. So, I proceed. "His cousin, Quinton Harvest, had dated my sister the summer before. A group of kids from the school witnessed them…doing things…behind the sweet shop garbage disposal."

"And…"

"And, obviously Joseph was jealous of him, okay?" I hiss at him in a raised, aggravated tone.

"He touched you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry Annie, that mustn't of been…"

"No, but that's not all of it." I interrupt, determined now I have revealed some of the story, I am not to hold back any crucial information. "If I had just been grabbed on the streets, if a random boy had just decided to…feel me up…I wouldn't of cared so much. But, Joseph, he pretended he liked me. Like, really, really liked me. " I sigh. "I had some stupid pre-teen crush on him for some time. A lot of girls did, he was handsome, humorous and charming. So when he started to pay an interest in me, I felt more confident and special than I ever had before, in my whole life."

"We arranged to meet at the main beach, he must of found out from somebody, Quinton, perhaps, that it was a place I treasured. Within moments he had came on to me, smacking his fat greasy lips against my own." A shiver races down my spine in exact time Finnick winces uncomfortably. "At first, I thought it was romantic, grown up, even. Until he started to…well…yeah. It try to persist a little, but didn't see the point after a while, besides, as he kept pointing out, Marina had done much worse. Anyway, a group of my brothers close friends wandered past the beach. He had already inflicted his touch on my front, and was starting to get lower, but when he saw they were heading in our direction, he stopped and walked away. Leaving me standing there. We haven't spoken since." I pretend I am unconcerned, bored of the topic, even, wrestling the emotion trying to sear through in to my emotions and from my eyes, giving a casual shrug of my shoulders to indicate the story had came to an end. For a while, Finnick does not respond. Instead, he sits beside me, lost in deep concentration and thought, as if he is trying to process the information I had just supplied to him.

"And you really liked him?" He offers, at last.

"Yeah, I guess. It was the typical over exaggerated pre-teen crush."

"That must have been horrible. Damaging, even." He still seems to be exploring what I have just told him, his eyes fixed nowhere in particular, his eyebrows drawn down with concentration.

"It wasn't pleasant." I admit. "But I'm over it."

Finnick nods slowly.

"I've never told anyone about it, you know." I reveal, now desperate to break the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

"Same here. But I trust you to keep my secret, and I hope you can trust me with all of yours." He responds, suddenly snapping back in to the old alert and energetic Finnick I had grown so hypnotized by.

"Of course I can." I reassure him.

"I think it's time to sleep now, honey. Its late."

"No, just a little longer, I haven't drunk my hot chocolate yet." I plead.

"Take the tablet with it, it'll be easier to swallow."

"I don't want tonight to end, Finnick. I'm so scared." I wail, insistent in hiding in the cosy crook between his neck and shoulder blades. My new favourite place.

"Two weeks, three at the most. And you'll be back with me, I won't let you die. I'll sleep with whoever they want me to, whenever they want me to, if it brings you sponsors."

"I'd rather have no input from them at all, not it if it means you doing that."

"I know, sweetheart. I know. Look, take this pill now, and I'll wake you when the sun is setting. I doubt I'll get much sleep myself."

"You promise to wake me?"

"I promise."

So I digest the little blue pill for the very last time and bid farewell to my beautiful capacity of blue, as I fall in to the world of slumber once more, except this time is different. This time, I am being cradled in Finnicks arms as I do so.


	10. Let the Games Begin!

Finnick is true to his word. The moment dusk departed and daybreak waltzed in to take its place, he is gently shaking me awake, stroking my one again chaotic hair from my face, pulling my still half unconscious body towards him. "Annie. Its time." He murmurs, making it evident he had only recently returned to reality himself. I pretend I do not hear him call me at first, trying to fool myself in to thinking his voice is just a dream, that I am still wrapped safely in my slumber. But his tone grows firmer, and I begin to feel guilt stricken, so I don't persist any longer. Settling myself in the crook of his bent legs, resting my head on his shoulder, we sit and watch the sun wake in silence. Neither of us needn't say anything. We already know what one another will say, we are more than aware of the terrible thoughts of horror and panic that are tormenting us both. Why ruin the peace with such unpleasantness? With no words, we are able to pretend for a little longer.

We stay wrapped in each other and the reliving silence, until the sun has fully risen from its lethargy once and for all. Almost immediately after the colors in the sky begin to fade, Finnick jumps up from his seat. We had watched the performance, enjoyed the quietness and our peaceful solitude and now it was time to face the day. The day I would be lifted in to the arena. "You have to be at the take-off area for nine. We have a couple of hours, do you want to maybe do some training for a while?" Finnick suggests.

"With what? All I have is my piece of rope, and I am pretty confident I've mastered that skill by now."

"I certainly believe that!" He teases, ruffling my tufts of untamed hair. "How about self defense? Locks and how to break bones and stuff? They don't do much of that in training, but trust me, it could come in very helpful if somebody's trying to slice your neck open."

"Sure, why not?" I agree, hungry for all the help and advice I could obtain.

"Right. Okay. We'll start with an easy one. Come stand here." He indicates in front of him. "I'm going to start by showing you to get out of a hand lock. It's the most simple, and something I try and show all the tributes I get because practically anyone can manage it." He explains whilst beginning to grip my wrist. "I'm going to tighten it as much as I can, so it might hurt a bit, but I want to prepare you." I am cautioned, as the pressure Finnick is applying to my wrist ascends. I wince slightly, but bite manage to hold my tongue. "Now what?"

"You squat. As low as you can."

"What…"

"Sounds crazy, doesn't it? But if you bend low enough, its instinct for the attacker to release their grip. Look, you try." He encourages.

Feeling very much the fool, I sheepishly begin to stick out my rear and lower my body. The nearer my body got to the ground and the stronger I stance my rear end, the looser his grip becomes. Amazed at the simplicity of the technique, I beg him to show me more. "Okay, okay. One step at a time. That's probably the easiest move in the book. The other ones I demonstrate will be nowhere near as effortless."

Within the next hour and a half, Finnick acquaints me with four more basic self defence techniques. He is right about them being significantly harder, but I manage them all at least once. The most affective of the bunch seems to be the second method Finnick demonstrates on how to retrieve yourself from a wrist hold. It takes a little more effort and strength, but once enough of the latter has been injected almost immediately I feel my wrists free of imprisonment. The idea is, to bend your elbow inwards and push upwards to relieve yourself. I am also shown various ways to free myself from more secure holds. Finnick captures my hands from behind, and instructs me to try and hit his head with my elbows or stomp on his feet with my own feet. His grip loosens but not sufficiently enough, so I am told to pull his fingers down as hard as I can, forcing him to surrender. After this hold in particular I feel very guilty, Finnick had been as gentle as he possibly could throughout the demonstration, where as my role permitted me to do the opposite. However, he does not complain. Only congratulates on my knack of learning quickly and having an eye for detail.

We have ten minutes before half past eight, according to the clock hanging lopsided an neglected in the blue room. "Want to try the bear hug hold once more?" Finnick proposes, as it is the one I have the least confidence in my ability in. Well, that's what I told myself anyway. That the reason Finnick was so eager to try to bear hold once more was for my personal benefit, not at all his own. The technique required him, being the heavier out of the two of us, with his legs spread over his chest and his hands gripping my wrists. Anybody who had the misfortune to walk in us in such a position would be undoubtedly alarmed. However, I wasn't in a position to decline his help, and it wasn't like we were tourists in such intimacy involving one another. Not after last night, anyway. As mildly as I can get away with, I clamp one hand on his left wrist and other behind his right elbow, trapping his right arm to my chest. I can't help but fail in stifling an immature giggle, and I know Finnick is struggling to resist humouring himself. The time in which I did this technique earlier, I hadn't quite managed it, but Finnick promised I was close. This time, determined to succeed, I trap his foot and leg with mine, raise my hips and turn on my knees, victorious. I smirk, satisfied with my achievement. "Wow." Finnick mumbles from beneath me, our eyes once against entwined. I lean towards him, steadying my pace, teasing him. "Who's the more dominant of us now, eh?" I mock affectionately.

"Definitely you. No questioning it." He jokes back. I allow him to raise his head to caress my lips once more. After less than a minute of embracing though, Finnick pulls me away from him. "Don't do this to me. I won't ever let you leave." He murmurs in to me.

"Good." I reply, try to tempt him back. He fails to falter. "No. We need to get you ready now, we haven't much time." He explains, lifting me from the floor on which I am slumped and towards the direction of the bathroom. "Um…Finnick…I don't need you to help me bathe, you know."

"I know, but I want to, is that okay?"

"Sure." I respond, bewildered by his desire to care for me in such a personal way. I let him undress me once more, and lift my exposed skin, littered with faded freckles and the remains of the wounds I had inflicted, in to the mild H20, allowing myself to melt in to the heavenly water once more. "Why don't you come in? The tubs more than large enough for two." I offer.

"No, I know what you're trying to do…"

"Stop being so _assuming_, Finnick!" I wail, annoyed at his distrust. "You'll need to bathe to, if I am to have any chance in gaining sponsors, so why not save water?"

Timidly, he pulls of his pants and undergarments and slips in the time behind me. His legs tangled together with mine, the heat from his chest radiating my naked back. Once again, he has elated, but not to the extent as the night before. Satisfied, but not overwhelmed with excitement. It feels strange, causing such a typical body malfunction, in which I have only ever before associated with perverted and childish jokes before now. I do not mind though. I feel complimented by it, insistent to maintain it, even. Finnick massages shampoo in to my scalp and then in to his own, before stroking a sweet smelling gel on to my flesh. "I love you." I whisper, as if the words are the words are too fragile to be spoken with a projection any bolder. "I love you, too. Always." He punctures my neck with kisses as delicate as the wings of the dragonfly's, which float lazily in the high grass above the beach back home.

* * *

Noah is dressed and seated when Finnick and I enter the front lounge, our hands still tightly interweaved. The look he shoots at us is not sour, nor disappointed. In fact, it reeks of sympathy and admiration. "Hey." He starts, biting his lip to contain his anxiety.

"Hey. How're you holding up?" Finnick asks, leading me to share the seat beside our companion.

"I've been better. But I'm okay. I just want to get it over with, if I'm honest." Finnick does his best to demonstrate an understanding and knowing nod that should could come naturally to someone as involved in the games as he. I stare at the mahogany wood that blankets the dining table, unsure how to behave or what to say to either of them. Needless to say, my grip on Finnick only increases. "I'm not mad, you know." Noah announces, finally.

"You have every right to be." I hear my tone speak.

"Not really. Love is love. As long as it's not fake, that neither one of you are using each other." He directs at Finnick. "Then it's hardly your fault. It's just tricky."

"You've got that right." Finnick grunts.

Florrie doesn't bother to wake in time to bid us farewell. Very generously, in her eyes, anyway, she informed us of this last night, claiming to have 'disordered sleeping' that should only be disturbed in exceptional circumstances. Neither me or Noah are to bothered about the disadvantage of her presence. Dressed in a plain black plaid t-shirt and heavy faded combats, we make our way to the elevator that is to take us to the take off station. The location is right at the top of the building, just above the penthouse, where the tributes from district twelve will be pondering. It takes at least a little longer than five minutes to arrive there, yet nobody makes any attempt to strike up conversation. Not even Flosa. The tension seems as though it can be cut through with a knife.

As the hovercrafts begin to tower towards us, growing increasingly larger as the minutes tick past, I feel the pace of my heartbeat rapidly increasing. Even the murmurs of encouragement and firm hold of him cannot steady its erratic speed. "Annie, you're going to be okay. I promise you." He whispers to me, stroking my hand with his own. "When you get in there, run to the others as fast as you can. Get your hands on some decent weaponry and find a source of water. Do not, at any moment whatsoever, let your eyes slip away from one of the careers. Okay?" I move my head forwards in an awkward nodding motion. "Good. I'll see you in a few weeks, okay? "

"Then we can be together." I recite, more for my own benefit than for Finnicks.

"Yes. And then we'll be together, forever and always." He promises, planting a kiss on my temple one last time. "And then I'll be safe."

"And then you'll be safe. I promise."

* * *

The Capitol assistants instruct us to place our feet on a ladder, that locks them in to itself and rises us to the aircraft. I'm ushered to the seat opposite to Noah, on the side where all the other adolescent females are seated. The intimidating girl from three sits on my left, seeming completely unfazed and even a little bored with the whole scenario. On my right, a mousy girl from five is trying to battle her trembling, but is failing disastrously. I want to take her hand, to whisper her the words Finnick had whispered to me just moments before, to let her know that everything was going to be just fine. But I cannot. My arms are fastened in to firm metal, and even if they were to be freed, I cannot risk such an act of sentimentality, not after last night. An assistant makes her way to each tribute and painfully injects a rectangular mould in to each of our forearms. "Your tracker." She explains when the terrified male tribute from eight, questions her.

The journey to the arena takes at least another half an hour. One by one, we are escorted by a squad of peace keepers, off the aircraft and into the miserable daunting building, in which our stylists would dress us for what was likely to be the final time. The guards lead me into a room with four painted carelessly on the door, and up a flight of narrow stairs. When the stairs end, we are greeted by yet another door, which is transparent. Inside, I seek Tabiotha, wringing her hands in a distressed manor. "Hey." I say, and soon as we have been left in peace.

"Hello, darling. Would you care for some breakfast?"

"They've brought us breakfast?"

"A little, yes. They always do. Its portion controlled, though." She explains with a sad smile, indicating at two veiled dishes that lay on a small table on the other side of the room. Gathering my bearings, I nod at her and take one of the seats at the table. Unravelling the dish, I find a plate of eggs, fried bread and bacon. I shovel it down quickly, before I can change my mind about consuming it. "Aren't you eating?"

"No, I think I will pass. I have no desire for food right now."

"Why's that?" I question, oblivious to her pained expression and depressing manner.

Tabiotha releases a somber chuckle. "I'm sad to see you go, silly."

"Thank you." I reply, and I mean it, too.

"I've been meaning to tell you something for some time. I thought I'd save it for now. I thought it important you know, that you all know, really."

"Know what?"

"Not everybody in the Capitol agrees with the games. Some are as sickened as those in the districts."

"I doubt it." I mutter to myself.

Tabiotha looks stung by my opinion but continues. "I had been a stylist for the games for eleven years. At first, the reasons behind it was selfish. I wanted to be famous, to design the most outrageous and elaborate of gowns. I was young, in my early twenties."

"I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it." The Capitol broadcasts repeats of many games, from the most recent to ones from almost a century ago, and the stylists are almost always shown.

"Right. So one year, I am working for your district and a girl who didn't look a day over twelve is reaped. Of course, being so vulnerable, so tiny, she was one of the first to go. The day after her death, I go to get a magazine and there she is, her eyes empty, her lips bloodless, plastered over every front cover of every newspaper, every magazine. And do you know what the headline was?" She asked me, rhetorically, but I answer with a shake of my head, never less. "Mediocre stylist responsible for the death of Ana Monroe."

"Tabiotha…oh my god…"

"I quit, right then, on the spot. Spent the next twenty odd years cocooned in depression and loneliness, consumed by guilt and self loathing."

"So why did you come back to it all?" I dare to ask.

"Because I discovered I wanted to do something to _help_ you poor souls. And the only thing I've ever been good at is designing, so this year, I returned."

"That's wonderful." I breathe.

"Thank you." Tabiotha rises and rests her hand on my cheek, just as Mags had done the night before. "Come back, Annie. If you can."

"I will."

Tabiotha produces a delicate frosted silver ring from her pocket. Planted inside the centre, is a pearl, fresh from an oyster. "They wouldn't permit you to wear your necklace, so Mags brought this from back home. It was hers, given to her by her mother in her own games."

"If I don't make it back, make sure it is returned to her."

"Of course, darling." She vows, starting to dress me in an over sized navy raincoat. "This doesn't give us much of an indication, neither do the shoes, it could be anywhere, if I'm honest." She explains, regret written on her face.

"It's okay. I'll be okay." I promise meekly.

Then I melt in to my final embrace, for the weeks that were to follow, anyway.

* * *

The countdown for the closing of the tubes begins. I step inside. I have prepared myself to be overthrown once again with panic, but this time, there is no battle to win, the enemies surrendered already. I feel calm. As calm as the childlike waves on a mild and windless morning. I don't know why, and I don't know how, but I am not afraid. There's nothing more I can do now. Nothing I am able to change or contribute to my chances. All I've got is myself.

The tube lifts me on to a metal stand fitted in burnt yellow sand. The atmosphere that surrounds me is humid and uncomfortable. In the center of the sand is the cornucopia, reflecting the sunlight that is streaming through the dull clouds up above. I remember that I must not step off the stand until the sixty second count down is over, so I freeze my body to the spot, however let my eyes search frequently for Noah and the other careers. On my sights travels, I learn that we are surrounded by a uphill jungle that surrounds the whole area. The wide strip of ugly sand on which we are standing, which to my disappointment is not accompanied by even a hint of blissful ocean, and a narrow pathway to a high grassed swamp are the only escape from the bizarre Amazon.

Twenty seconds.

The cornucopia is stacked from top to bottom with various weapons and back packs spilling with snacks, water, bandages among many more vital items. Lengthily pieces of rope and electric wire decorate the sharp corners of the statue like holiday lights.

Ten seconds.

Tufts of Noah's fair hair comes in to focus in my left vision. He is just three tributes away. Shadow and I are sandwiching the red head from seven, I cannot yet place the others.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 70th Hunger Games, begin!"

* * *

As soon as the elaborated tones of Claudius Templesmith comes to an end, the cannon that signifies the starting of the games fires. Before even making any decisions about what I should do, I find myself running in perfect symmetry with Shadow to the cornucopia. We are slightly in front of the other tributes, Noah, Shimmer and the girl from three following close behind. Shadow reaches for a pack of knifes balanced at the rear end and throws me a couple of large spears, not to dissimilar from those I used hunt fish with in the shallows back home. Shimmer is bounding over, quickly retrieving the only bow and arrow on the stack of weapons, and when Noah catches up with her to retrieve a very typical 'district four' trident. Looking onwards, I spy Meeti and Merlin wrestling the weaker tributes, bringing three of them to death between them within the first few minutes of the blood bath with their bare hands.

I am so bewildered by this that I am caught off guard. Before I can anticipate what happening, the girl from three has got me in the exact same lock I had practiced to free myself from this morning. Her damp hands are clutching mine from behind, my elbows won't reach her head. She must be leaning towards the cornucopia instead of me, it's the only way my method cannot be working as she is about the same height as me. Her feet are spread at too much of a distance to make any possible attempt at stomping on. She is just about to bring a knife to my throat as I'm unsuccessfully trying to do significant damage to her fingers, when her grip on me and a high pitched scream is released. Allowing myself a quick peak, I see that a knife of almost the exact same sharpness and length is dangling from her calf. Shadow. I recover fairly quickly but so does my attacker, limping in the direction of her obvious allies, the pair from six. Before she arrives though, the boy is throwing a spear in to the direction of Shadow in revenge. Neatly dodging the weapon, the spear lands in to the heart of Shimmer, who is battling the girl from seven. The fourth cannon is fired. Tributes from district one almost always make it to the final, and I can no imagine the surprise and the uproar of her people back home. I almost feel sorry for her, until I remember she is now officially deceased and will never witness their shame and disappointment.

* * *

I don't kill anybody in the blood bath. I know everybody else has a significant part in at least one tributes death, even Noah. As I stand on the corner of the cornucopia trying to look dangerous and unwise to be taken on, I see Meeti usher him over. He has beaten a young boy to such a pulp the only way I recognize him is from the large nine printed on his raincoat. However, he is refusing to die. Squeezing his eyes shut to block out his victim, he pierces his trident in to the boys chest over and over until he hears the fire of the seventh cannon. Shadow boasts about being responsible for the fate of the females from five and nine, who were the last on the scene, trying to discreetly pinch some of our bounty from the cornucopia. She also claims to of took out the boy from three by throwing a knife right in to the center of his back.. Meeti and Merlin count four tributes between them in whom that are responsible for their falling. The females from eight, ten and eleven and the boy from twelve. Shimmer is the only other death so far.

"So far so good, wouldn't you say?" Noah announces, starting to shift through the many backpacks of we've claimed. Meeti and Shadow share a silent conversation through an unsure glance, in which it is obvious I am the topic.

"Your little friend didn't do too well, almost got herself killed at one point." Meeti points out, his gaze not drifting from me for a second.

"Yeah, if it wasn't for me, she would have been long gone." Shadow backs up, sauntering over to me.

This is it, I think. I didn't perform well enough, I let my weak and incapable side show once more, and this time, I will pay with my life.

"I only killed one person…it isn't all about the killing you know. She'll be helpful with other stuff, I told you that." Noah debates.

"Maybe we should just kill her now, Meeti. I'm sure we'll manage without her knowledge on what berry's to pick." Shadow mocks, eyeing me up as if I was a particularly tasty meal.

"I don't know…what do you think Merlin?"

"Whatever." Merlin shrugs, unconcerned. "Do what you thinks best, Meeti."

Before any of them can open their mouths to make a final decision on my execution, Noah has Shadow by the throat up against the cornucopia. She is gasping, begging for breath and has is somewhat paler than the shade of winter snow her complexion usually takes. "Stop, stop that!" Meeti cries. "Then don't kill her, don't kill Annie, not yet." Noah replies, his grip loosening a little.

"Kill Shadow, I and Meeti could kill you both in an instant." Merlin fires back.

"And what, have just the two of you on the career pack? How exactly would that work? We've already lost Shimmer, there's not many of us left, just give her a chance, okay?" As the boys deliberate I finger the equipment in the backpacks. In my brief search, I do not come across any fishhooks. "There's no fishhooks in here." I blurt out, suddenly, a little embarrassed by the horror in my tone this revelation, as if the game makers had decided not to provide us with weaponry, not a moderately significant hunting devise. Even so, I proceed. "And not much food. Just snacks and stuff. The pond over there in the swamp looks as though it'd have more than enough good fish to eat however, spearing them will be tricky, we'll be better off luring them out with some bait."

"You think you can make one out of the little recourses we have?" Meeti questions.

"Yeah. All I need is some wood, rope and a knife. I make ones with even flimsier stuff back home all the time."

"It's true, she does." Noah chirps in.

"And those berries, in that bush over there, leading on to the swamp." I say pointing at a hedge dotted with vaguely familiar looking fruit in the distance. "They're safe to eat. You wouldn't of known that without me." I reveal, desperately searching for ways to enhance myself. I'm not even completely sure the berries aren't piousness, they look on the safe side according to my basic knowledge, but my mind is to muddled and overwhelmed to be certain. "They do look sort of familiar, Meeti. I remember from training." Shadow admits, to my great advantage.

"Try one, then. Prove you're not luring us in to a trap." Meeti demands.

I figure I have nothing to lose. If the berries are in fact riddling with poison, I am likely to die. But if I refuse to do as Meeti, the leader and most ruthless of the pack, says, I am just as likely to face certain death. So I give a casual shrug and make my way over to the hedge. I look backwards, seeing the fear and anticipation in Noah's eyes. I try to make my own expression one of reassurance for him but it's difficult. I am just as unsure about the berries as the rest of them.

* * *

Needless to say, the berries are in fact not piousness. In fact, they taste pretty good. I have passed my first test, won my first mental battle with the careers. Meeti and Merlin head for the swamp to check that my prediction about the fish is correct, as Noah and I pick berries and the long grass to weave in to baskets to hold the fruit and our various other snacks. Shadow is on guard. She stills look a little shaken up from her encounter with Noah, but is trying to disguise her fear with her moodiness. Arms crossed and scowl adjusted, she sits with her back to the rear end of the cornucopia, where all our supplies are stored, watching us intently.

Noah and I are still picking when the boys arrive back from the swamp. "Plenty of them in there. All look pretty small, but from my limited knowledge, perfectly edible." Merlin reports.

"Great, well, I'll start on the hook now, it should be finished in time for tomorrow morning."

Meeti gives me a nod of gratitude. "Great, well done, Annie." I notice a look of fierce annoyance and jealousy overcast my fellow females face. "Now, for the rest of the day, I say we hunt for some other meat, and the other tributes, if we're so lucky. Annie can stay back and weave and do all the domestic boring bits." He announces, giving me a playful wink. I force an amused grin.

"We all sticking together?" Noah queries.

"No. Merlin and I will go to the right of the jungle and you and Shadow to the left."

"Make sure your back before it gets to dark. You've got more of a chance of getting in to danger." I add, caution and responsibility in my nature.

Meeti releases an entertained chuckle. "Well aren't you our little domestic goddess already? Making sure we're back in time for dinner, weaving, whatever will be next?!" Shadow rolls her eyes at me, obviously put out by her district partners fondness towards me. I can't help but be secretly pleased by this.

When the rest of the group have floundered, I set to work. Weaving the grass, organizing the snacks and water the backpacks provide us with and making a start on sculpting to my fishhook. By the time the tropical sky starts to turn a pearly grey, indicating evening has risen from its slumber. My teammates are yet to return, and I can feel the currently dormant anxiety inside of me threatening to erupt. What if this was the plan all along? To leave me here on my own, bang in the middle of this place, leaving me to be the easiest target a tribute you could hope for? Could Noah not face killing me, but the pack had convinced him I must be ridden of, and this was some sort of twisted compromise? Just as breath is becoming harder to feed to my lungs, I see a two figures trudging through the swamp grass, one with hair as blonde as the summer sun and the other as dark as a graveyard raven. Three hang unfamiliar rodent type things hang from Shadow's pelt, and two exotic turkeys from Noah's. However, my fellow female career could not look further from satisfied.

"We must have been out there _hours_ looking for them, and all we manage to kill are a couple of creepy looking birds and three underweight tree rat things." She groans as a way of greeting to me.

"Never mind. We have all of tomorrow to search some more, I think it's best if we all call it a night now. Have either of you seen the boys?" I mother, beginning to skin the game with a particularly sharp carving knife.

"How could we, brainless? We were hunting in the exact opposite direction?"

"Well, sorry, brainless, but hasn't it occurred to you that its almost nightfall and we've had no word from them?" I fire back, irritated by her patronizing tone, I cut out one of the rats eyes with such force it fly's in to the air and lands in line with my allies foot. "Woah, calm down, Anns, don't take it out on the rat." Noah mocks, in an attempt to thin the atmosphere.

"They'll be fine. None of the tributes will have the balls to take on either of those two on their own, let alone together. Did you even see their performance in the bloodbath today? Stop being such a worry guts already, Jesus." Shadow responds, starting to pluck the feathers from one of the birds. Noah is tossing berries and pieces of dry fruit supplied in the backpacks in to his mouth and lounging on a couple of grass mats I had stitched together whilst they were away. I have made five in total, varying drastically in sizes, even though we have sleeping bags, but I guess I felt it'd be a nice thing to do, bringing as much comfort in to our new home as possible. I have also weaved many baskets to hold the variety of snacks we have been provided with, and the berries I had picked. Two bowlfuls of the fresh fruit, a bowlful of the dried fruit, a bowlful of beef jerky and a bowlful of crackers. I have stored on the water bottles in to the now practically empty backpacks, and have set out the four sleeping bags we managed to savor on the ground. Now I have perfected it and can allow myself to admire my handiwork, I can't help but feel pleased with my efforts. I suspect my companions to feel this way to, I have readied myself for their compliments and gratitude, but to my irritation neither of them even mention the more that comfortable camp in which I'd spent my entire afternoon creating. Before I can get any more frustrated with either of them though, Meeti and Merlin decided to make reappearance at last. Their faces look full of fatigue and disappointment. "I heard no cannons, I guess that means you didn't find any of them, either?" Shadow asks them. Meeti shakes his head sadly, the way any normal person in any normal situation would nod if news of death had been delivered to their doorstep, not the other way around. "We caught some sort of tree rat though." Merlin adds, attempting to weave our bad luck with a little optimism.

"Is that it?" Shadow scoffs at him. "We caught _three _of them, all much bigger than that, too." She announces, indicating at the pathetically thin rodent hanging from Meeti's pelt, obviously comforted by the fact that her and Noah had beaten them in their quests to find food. Meeti gives a half hearted shrug. "We're both pretty heavy handed, hunting's harder when your built that way. Our footsteps are bound to be significantly more prominent."

"Noah did just fine." Shadow mutters quietly to herself. Either Meeti doesn't hear her defiant words or chose to ignore them, as he simply sits himself down on one of the mats and starts to help me prepare the rabbits. "Nice little camp you've set up for us here, Cresta. I'm impressed." Meeti purrs.

"Thanks." I respond. I'll have the fishhook finished by tonight and I can make more mats if required." I add, trying to keep his compliments rolling. He does seem to be the most dominant out of the five of us, the ones who makes the decisions, so the least I can do is act civilly towards him and do my best to convince him I'm a worthy asset. "Well, aren't you something." He mumbles in a tone that sounds both sincere and mocking, which I cannot quite work out. Is he angry at me? Jealous, even? No, that'd be ridiculous, how could someone as powerful and able bodied as Meeti be envious of me? Still, you never know.

I manage to get a fire started with some thin fallen branches, and Meeti decides that we are to eat no more than a rabbit and a half and a handful of snacks for the meal, as he, Merlin and Shadow are determined to spend the next day hunting humans, not animals. The tree rat meat is greasy but juicy and fattening, and the small piece I am given, accompanied with a handful of berries, just about does the job of filling me up enough to last till late morning. By the time we finish our evening meal, it has unmistakably fallen in to dusk. Noah and I are given the dishonor to share a sleeping bag, but neither us mind much, in fact, lying next to him, feeling the heat radiate off his body and the complicated dance of his heartbeat, brings me a significant amount more contentment than sleeping alone would provide. However, the idea of sleep still seems unimaginable.

* * *

Authors Note:

Hi guys!

So Annie's finally in the arena! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to upload, I had a rather stressful and upsetting week and therefore struggled to find the motivation or energy to write for long periods of time. My aim is to get at least another two chapters written for Tuesday though, and hopefully even more as the week goes on, as I am on a weeks break from school and being the anti-social sixteen year old I am, will have plenty of time to write about more of Annie's adventures:)

I am very grateful for the support I am receiving at the moment. However, any recommendations to friends or followers or whatever, would be highly appreciated, as writing is honestly a great therapy for me, and every time I see a new review, follow or favorite it really means a lot to me and gives me great motivation to continue:)

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and keep your eyes peeled for the next one, where Annie is forced to play a very significant part in one of the careers kills...


	11. Becoming Part of the Pack

My prediction that sleep would be hard to come by, is proven very much correct. Until the early hours of the morning, I stay curled in-between Noah's thighs, keeping my body as stiff and unawake as I can manage, calmed by melody of his heavy breathing.

I watch Shadow. She does not seem anymore tempted by the pleasure of slumber than I do, and this makes me wonder maybe her and I may have something in common. Neither of us feel relaxed enough to let ourselves drift off, we are both to on edge, to frightened and cautious and full of 'what if's'. I picked up from the numerous television broadcasts about this year's selection of tributes, she has recently turned fifteen and not a volunteer, despite training at district two's training center since her tenth birthday. Finnick and I's original theory had been that the district had been so confident in her ability that they saw no point in depriving themselves of yet another win. But tonight I am starting to wonder, maybe her unpleasant attitude and behavior towards others may have something to with nobody offering to sacrifice themselves. I cannot help but feel a wave of sympathy drench me at the thought of this, because however vulgar a person may be, to know you are despised to such a high extent must be heart wrenching. After a while, she realizes my observing her. With an apprehensive glare sent in my direction, I begin to open my mouth to execute yet another awkward silence between the two of us, when she steals the words from my mouth to be released from her own.

"Can't sleep either?" Shadow asks, her eyes diverting from my own to her feet, as if she feels ashamed to be conducting a conversation with me.

"No, I don't see how anybody can." I reply, indicating at the snoring young men surrounding us.

"They supply every tribute but the one on guard with some sort of sleeping drug, or something. Would make things a whole lot easier." Shadow groans.

"Ah, but not being able to sleep is yet another disadvantage to add to our lists, and you know how the Capitol loves their disadvantages." I point out, carefully unzipping the sleeping bag and daring to walk over to where she is slumped. Shadow seems surprised by my forwardness, but says nothing, just shifts over a little so I can share the space in which her rear is resting.

"I suppose." She mumbles, combing her hands through the sand that cushions us. "I just wish…" She starts, but then shakes her head, obviously realizing whatever she was about to say was to inappropriate for release.

"You wish what?" My curiosity has consumed me once more. This vulnerable, friendly Shadow is so much more pleasant than the sarky cruel one. I want to savor her and get to know her as much as I can.

"It's nothing…I just… its hard sometimes, you know? To accept this is the way things have to be. That you can't close your eyes, let your guard down, not once. It's just so…frustrating sometimes." Shadow reveals, oblivious to the fact she had just done exactly what she had just explained she felt impossible to do. I decide not to tell her this though. Not for my own personal benefit, but because I believe she needed to say what she needed to say, and the moral part of me believes I shouldn't deprive her of doing so. And I certainly shouldn't use it to spite her.

"I know what you mean, it's awful."

"It really is." She mutters, her eyes locking with mine for a second, before returning to the now neatly raked sand. "Not to say it puts me off kicking all your arses when the time comes." She warns me. "So don't go thinking I've suddenly gone all soft."

"I wouldn't think that for a second." I reply truthfully, a sad smile spread across my face. An equally dismal grin is returned. She looks a lot prettier when she smiles, a lot more soft and warm and youthful, even when the beam is as depressing and low spirited as this one. It occurs to me, if she looks so lovely wearing a smile like this, dressed in one full of delight and pleasure she could probably be rather beautiful. We stay wrapped in the twilights peacefulness for a while, sitting side by side on the stone cold sand, until I spot a troupe of twirling smoke come from the upper jungle. Squinting my eyes in concentration, I can just make out a circle of orange flame in the distance. Before I can consider whether or not to warn the others a tribute is near, Shadow, curious to know what is the trigger of my bewilderment, notices the smoke too. "Come _on_." She whispers at once. "We must warn Meeti and the others!"

* * *

Before I know it, I am shaking a sleepy Noah awake and dragging his limp trance driven body to the center of the sand, where the rest of the group are waiting for us. "Shadow and Annie spotted some smoke in the distance. We need to get moving, try and find this bastard." Meeti explains before Noah and I are even seated. "Its faded a little, but you can still see it, if you play close attention." Shadow adds, looking at me for back-up. I give a feeble nod in agreement, paralyzed by the fear of what Meeti would decide to do next. "We can't all go, there's too much to lose if the camp gets over run." Noah points out. "Annie and I will stay here, you guys go." Meeti and Merlin let out bellyful laughs and Shadow a humored smirk. "No way, guys. Sorry. _Way _to risky." She tells us.

"So who's going to go?" I ask with all the courage I could muster, not at all sure I want to hear Meeti's answer. For a while, he deliberates, staring the four of us up and down with his glare, searing with power and importance. "Me, Noah and Annie." He finally reveals, his gaze trying to catch my own. I want to scream. I do not want be part of any violence I am not required to engage in. I know why Meeti has chosen Noah and I, he wants to see firsthand how capable we are, how much of an asset we are to the team. And of course, if we want to see daybreak, we can hardly decline. "That's _so _not fair. Merlin and I are of much more use to you." Shadow wines, collapsing on the ground once more. "Life's not fair, sweet pea." Meeti replies, giving his companion a friendly kiss on the cheek, causing Shadows cheeks to erupt in to a flurry of crimson.

The fire seems to be a good few miles off from the camp, so Meeti urges us to begin hiking there as fast as we can. By the time we have reached the opening on the jungle, the smoke seems to have been enhanced once more, to the degree it had been when Shadow and I had spied it earlier. "They've rel-it it. Good." Meeti mutters to himself, leading Noah and I behind him in to the tangle of tropical tree's and the chorus of humming insects. I have never seen anything quite like it. The explosion of spring green and the strong aroma of fresh fruit and uncomfortable humidity. It is like stepping in to a whole new world, the only other experience I can compare it to is my arrival in the Capitol a week before. As our trek continues and our mouths become dry and our feet sore, the smoke is fading away once more. The further we delve in to the luscious amazons, the more noticeable it again becomes, but it is clear we do not have much time to spare. Driven by determination, Meeti orders us to run as fast as we have the ability to, certain that soon we will soon come face to face with our nemesis. And he is right. After a few minutes of extreme sprinting, we spot the girl from seven, huddled in a tight bundle on the wasteland ground, warming herself by the expiring flame. At first, she does not notice us. Occupied only by the thought of bringing herself warmth, until our heavy panting and weighted footsteps suddenly brings her back to reality. Before we have time to chase after her, she is rushing towards a nearby tree, hurling herself on to the first branch. "Quick, Annie, shoot her down!" Meeti demands, tossing me a spear. Before I am able to comprehend what I am about to do, I strike the spear through the thigh of the tribute, causing her to tumble to the ground almost immediately. Before she can collect herself, Meeti is plunging a dagger in to her chest, a fountain of scarlet erupting, staining her raincoat and exposed skin. A cannon is fired. "Good job, Cresta. I'm impressed." Meeti cackles, thumping my trembling shoulder with his fist.

* * *

Meeti doesn't see the point in searching for any other tributes at such a dim hour, so we take our time in returning to camp. Once again, he takes the lead. Noah is fixed at my side, glaring at me with an expression that seems to a mix of sympathy and disappointment. It kills me. How can he not realise how guilty and heartless I feel right now? How can he judge me, when not twelve hours before he had plunged a trident in to the beating heart of a young boy? I ignore him as best as I can, and his feeble attempts in holding my hand and waist to guide me along, as if I was some sort of startled horse. We pick a couple of handfuls of berry's from a bush we find, I know for sure they are safe because they often grow on the greenery back home in the summer months. Roar berries. In fact, I had eaten some in a pie my mother had made, the very night before the reaping. The sharp sweet juice forces salty tears to bathe my face. I try to banish them, bringing the cuff of my coat sleeve to wipe them away. But I cannot. By the time we return to camp, I cannot contain myself any longer. I remove myself from the company of the others, cuddling up in one of the sleeping bags, lowering my head so they meet my knees and silently sobbing until I eventually I fall in to a temporary coma.

When I wake, it seems to be at least mid morning. From the safety of my bag I spy Shadow sharpening knifes by the fire where Noah is preparing one of the exotic birds he caught yesterday to be demolished. Meeti and Merlin are nowhere to be seen, so I assume they are off hunting. Pushing the girl I had helped execute to the back of my mind, I untangle myself from my slumber and make my way over to the others. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Nice rest?" Noah says lightly, ruffling my atrocious bed hair. I stick my tongue out at him and slump down next to Shadow. I find my progressing fishhook already lay out before me. "Meeti says he wants it done for this afternoon. I thought I'd get it out for you, just in case you woke up anytime soon." Shadow explains coldly, obviously feeling very put out for having to assist me in something so trivial. I give her an appreciative grin and set to work. Crafting my hook lets my mind travel from the haunting thoughts of last night's trauma. The horror portrayed on the girls face as she realised she had nowhere left to run. The disappointment of Noah and the respect my actions brought from the ruthless Meeti. The reminder that without me, that innocent teenager may still be alive.

By the time lunch has been readied I am almost finished sculpting. The boys return from their short hunt with no luck, or a tremendous amount of luck, if you think about it from the perspective of our competitors. Noah slices the bird in to five sections, and dishes out the meat to us in turn. Meeti allows us to have a strip of beef jerky with our meal, and a small handful of berries. "Tomorrow, we'll hunt for more meat, so we can splash out on the food a bit more." He promises.

"If you don't catch enough fish this afternoon, that is." Merlin says to me, a hint of warning and threat laced in to his tone.

"Of course she will, she hasn't let us down so far!" Meeti winks at me. I release a modest smile.

"It'll take me another ten minutes or so to complete the hook after lunch, and then I'm pretty confident it'll be ready for use." I update them, shovelling bird breast stained with berry juice in to my mouth.

"Great, well, you, Shadow and Noah can use it this afternoon in the swamp. Then you can prepare the fish whilst the others split up and hunt for tributes, okay?" We all nod in agreement, though Shadow seems a more than a little put out by having to be in the company of Noah and I, once again. When lunch finishes, a very well equipped Meeti and Merlin set off back in to the depths of the jungle. "We won't be back till late, so don't you worry, Cresta." Meeti teases irritatingly. Once I have finished the fishhook, Shadow insists in accompanying me to the swamp whilst Noah keeps guard of the camp. "I think I'll slit my wrists if I waste another few hours sitting around doing nothing." She threatens. "And who say's that's a bad thing?" Noah mutters to me as I put the finishing touches to my fishhook. I stifle a giggle, and make off for the swamp with Shadow before I am unable to contain myself for much longer.

* * *

The swamp is blanketed with fine grass that reaches our waists. In the near distance, a small pond guarded by a bank of soft mud can be spied. It doesn't look anywhere near as sufficient as the homes of the fish back home, but even from far away I can tell that it is very much able of containing them. In fact, it is also likely the water is not salted, and therefore very much drinkable once applied with one of our many bottles of purifier. I explain all this to an information hungry Shadow as we wade over to the pond. She seems to be bewildered by the amount of knowledge I have on this subject, as bewildered as I am by her knowledge of fighting techniques. When we reach the pond, I place a little bird meat left over from lunch as bait on to the hook, and leer in to the gloomy water. "What do we do now, then?" A very clueless Shadow asks.

"We wait."

"Really? Ugh, I came with you to get _away_ from the dullness, not to be brought in to it even further." She groans, balancing her weight by bending her knee's and getting grip of her feet on the slippery mud.

"You can try and spear them, if you want. But it requires getting in to the water. And I don't suspect they'll be any easier to catch that way." I say, observing the quick little silver pond fish fluttering from one side of the pond to another at lightning speed. Shadow sighs, and hoists herself back up to the grass to wait. Within minutes, I get my first catch. I slowly reel in not one, but two fish, nibbling obliviously on the bird meat. "You got one?" Shadow bellows from behind me, suddenly brought back to attention. "Two." I shout back to her, proud of my efforts.

By the end of the session I count over two dozen fish. Shadow and I divide the game symmetrically in two, bundling our assigned share in our arms, and steadily making our way back to the sand. I am aware that if another group of tributes have been watching us, this would be the perfect opportunity for them to pounce. But I try not to think of this possibility, by focusing on keeping a grip on my bundle and maintaining a steady pace. Noah is skinning the boys tree rat when we arrive back, to focused on preparing tonight's meal to notice the stack of deceased fish swimming in our arms. However, when he does, he flings the rat to the ground and jumps up to congratulate us with an embrace, only to realize this is virtually impossible at this moment in time. He instructs us to release the fish on to the ground and mound them in to one big pile. When we do as he asks of us, he fills us in on what we'd missed. "I heard two cannons go off, one after another. Obviously I have no way of knowing whether or not they belonged to the guys, but you know, I'm pretty certain they're alright." Shadow seems anxious and on edge after this revelation, but she does not say as much. She just orders Noah to get up and begin hunting for tributes as Meeti had told them to. I spend the afternoon listening carefully for any cannon-like sound in the distance and preparing the mountain of fish. The sound of another muffled cannon meets my ears around the time of late afternoon. I try and banish the thought that it could be an indication that Noah has been slayed, but as daytime fades, so does my optimism. It must be early evening by now, and I am growing increasingly worried. No more cannons have been fired but no indications of my teams well being have been brought to light either. I have almost finished with the fish now, and I know I should think about preparing supper for the others return, but it's too much of a risk, being on my own. I am just beginning to wonder if this was the plan all along, to go off and abode me, wait for me to be found by another pack of bloodthirsty tributes, perhaps to ease Noah's conscience, realising it's the simplest way to have me killed with him having as little involvement as possible. But then I see Merlin and Meeti trudging across the sand to meet me. With both apprehension and relief, I bound over to them.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been worried out of my mind…"

The boys let out an amused laugh. "Aw, bless her, Meeti. She's been worried about us!" Merlin mocks, ruffling my hair, an action I am really get tired of people doing. Meeti just laughs again, and settles himself on the sand, collecting the equipment relevant for starting a fire. "We took out the boy from ten and the girl from twelve. Found them holed up in some hidden cave somewhere. Looked pretty cosy up there, actually." Meeti reports proudly, laughing and mocking his victims without what seemed like a shred of guilt.

"Yeah, I know right, it was good we got there when we did, he might of got her knocked up or something. And it would have been a darn lot harder to slice her throat if that had happened." Merlin jokes cruelly.

"Did you come across Noah and Shadow?" I ask, quickly trying to mask my infuriation at their ruthlessness by changing the subject. Meeti shakes his head. "They've been gone for hours…" I mutter nervously.

"Nice batch of fish you caught." Merlin compliments.

"Thanks. I can get more whenever you want, they were pretty easy to catch."

"See, I told you she wouldn't let us down, Mer!" Meeti leers, his hand beginning to creep over to my waist. "What are you…" I begin, as he begins to embrace me from behind, pressing his sweaty chest against my back. "Shhhh" Meeti mutters, his hands clambering over one another to reach my bust. A series of painful flashbacks waltz through my mind, as I remember Josephs Appleton's exact same actions. However, back then, I had the power to fight back, I just was unaware of it. This time, more than anything I want to pin this monster to the ground and claw his face, but I am more than certain that this will cause a spear to pierce my heart. So I paralyse myself, using my fear to secure my stiff but firm grip in my current position. I clench my fist in to two tight fists, squeeze my eyes close and pray for it to be over soon. And it is. With a couple more gentle paws at my breasts and sloppy kisses on my goose pimpled neck, he is finished with me. He clambers up to help a unfazed Merlin with preparing supper, and leaves me, trembling with fear and confusion, without another word.

* * *

Noah and Shadow return just as dinner is being finished. The boys and I are just beginning to lose hope of their return when the two of them come hiking across the sand, looking exhausted and breathless. Overjoyed by their return, especially after the frightening and uncomfortable couple of hours I had just spent in the company of Meeti and Merlin, I rush to Noah. His strong arms catch my fall, and pulls me in to him. "We got the boy from five. He put up a darn good fight though." He pants in to my ear. I suddenly notice the fierce gash painted across his cheekbone, unleashing a river of blood, vibrantly staining his angular jaw. "Oh…Noah…you're face…"

"Its fine." He winces, failing to reassure me with his unsteady tone.

"We must have a first aid kit somewhere…" I say, beginning to make my way over to the stack of supplies at the cornucopia. I feel his grip on my upper arm, halting me. "No, Annie, I'm okay really. Don't make a fuss about it, please." He pleads, his eyes oozing with desperation. That's when I realise his reasoning for being so reluctant to be mothered by me is because he does not want to look weak in comparison to the rest of the team. His reasoning angers me, but I understand it, so instead I simply allow my limp and willing body to be joint with his own once more.

"He didn't give in lightly." I hear Shadows aggressive tone, explaining the scene to the boys. "We found him gathering edible plants in the height of the jungle. He didn't notice us at first, but when he did, his knife was out like a shot." She boasts, obviously enjoying all the attention Merlin and Noah were paying her. "He caught Noah on the face as swung down to get a grip on his feet, luckily I managed to get a good grip on his neck as he was doing this. He had to let go of the knife eventually, I was applying to much pressure for him not to. So, when we did, I got Noah to stab him with it." The gruesomeness of the story shocks me. I know at this point in the games process it shouldn't, but something about stabbing the boy with his own weapon, gives me the chills. I see Shadow produce an impressive selection of plants from her rucksack, and I am quickly ushered over to observe their edibility. I recognise them all from my many hours at the edible plant station in the training centre, the boy from five, a fourteen year old called Harley, had been my only companion there. The concentration that swam across that boys face when he was studying there had amazed me, he seemed so young, being remarkably small for his age, but was clearly smarter than most of us. One time, I allowed myself to smile at him, an indication that I appreciated his intelligence. The smile was returned, and it seemed more warm and genuine than my own, perhaps his way of thanking me for showing him a little kindness, no matter how little it may be. And now? Noah had killed him. Noah, the person I had been closest too throughout all of this, the person whom I had to come to think of as family, and even sometimes as my better half in a strong partnership. Suddenly feeling alarmingly nauseous, I struggle away from his embrace and sit down next to the bundle of plants. I imagine them, clasped in his tiny hands, the hope and the relief that must of rushed through him when he found each shrub. In that moment, I feel something towards Noah Canopy that I never would of even allowed myself to think about feeling, hatred.

* * *

We eat some of the plants for supper, accompanied by a little tree rat and make-shift sandwiches made from the crackers and beef jerky sticks. Meeti establishes we have gotten through six bottles of water since our arrival, leaving us with only five left. "Go down to the swamp again tomorrow, Annie, does the water seem drinkable?" Startled by the sound of his voice aimed in my direction, especially since the last time he'd acknowledged me he was treating me like his own personal play toy, I give a small jump. Shadow and Merlin cackle nastily but Noah rests his hand on the small of my back to calm me, I quickly shake off his grasp. "Yeah. It seems to be. A little murky but…okay." I mumble, lost in a web of my increasingly distressing thoughts. Meeti gives a knowing nod and continues eating. The rest of the meal is eaten in silence. When we have finished, Noah wraps up the leftover food in the large net found in one of the rucksacks, and begins to store it back on its shelf in the cornucopia. Meeti offers to be on guard, a suggestion we are all satisfied with as we know the risk of him betraying us is unlikely. How could he be team leader without a team to lead? He dismisses the luxury of a sleeping bag, so to my pleasure I am not required to share one with Noah, who I am still very much on edge around. Instead, I snuggle down in to the spacey sack, certain I am so fatigued it will not be long until the shadow of slumber overcasts me.

I wake up with a start. By the colouring of the sky I can predict it cannot be any earlier than three in the morning. My sleep had been interrupted by a vicious nightmare. I was back at home, in four, wading in the shallows at the beach. I dunk my head in to the sea of calming blue, and push myself to force my body further out. Before I know it, I am alone, paddling my legs as fast as I can to keep me afloat. But never less, I'm sinking. I hear the injured howl of an unknown creature behind me. Mustering the courage and strength to turn my body to seek the creator of this sound, I see two figures, swimming after my drowning body. Their faces are as pale as you'd expect as corpses to be, and that's because they were. One figure had a mane of fierce red hair and the other small boned, with a joyful smile plastered across his face. The fallen tributes were coming for me. The more I seemed to sink and weaken, the faster Harley and the girl from seven became, grabbing for my fatigued feet over and over. Until finally, they catch them…

I notice I am soaked in my own sweat and am trembling furiously. Sneaking a peak over to where Meeti is supposed to be on guard, I notice that the temptation of sleep became overcame him, and he is now snoring and shuffling softly as he naps. Quietly unzipping the sleeping bag, I hoist my damp body out, and make my way past him and towards the cornucopia. I pull my body, sore with the suns burn, on to the cool metal surface. Removing my raincoat and throwing it to the ground, I begin to steadily climb to the top of the cornucopia, panting softly as I go. However, when I reach the smooth face, it is more than worth it. I am offered an escape from the humid air and I feel as though I am bathing in a bath full of stone cold steal. I lay on my back, staring up at the clusters of shining stars above me. I wonder if they are real, the stars that my sisters, Ivan, and my parents are transfixed by back home, or they are simply created to make us tributes feel a little more in touch with reality. In this moment, it does not matter to me. Just to be below a dark sky painted with bursts of brightness, such a familiar, safe sort of experience, something I'd do on a nightly basis at the beach, _my_ beach, not this daunting unfamiliar strip of sand, is enough for me to feel contented.

I do not know how long I lay there, but the sun has started to make an appearance as I make my way back down to the others, who are all still trapped in the wonderful web of sleep. Reluctant to have only my complex thoughts as a distraction, I fumble in one of the rucksacks and retrieve a bottle of purifier. I know what I am about to do is dangerous, but oddly, I find myself unable to be frightened. Tucking a dagger and a couple of spears in to the waistband of my combats, and arming myself with several empty grass weaved baskets, I head for the swamp. As I walk, I count in my head the fallen tributes. Earlier that morning, my stargazing session had been interrupted by the faces of the most recently taken paraded in the sky. I know from previous games this is done daily, but somehow I had managed to missed the prior ones. The anthem of Panem tickles my eardrums and the brightness of the presentation illuminating my fellow sleeping teammates. Not soon after, I had decided to depart from my stargazing spot, convinced the whole display had ruined the peace and the innocence of the whole scene. However much it made me feel sick, the parade of faces in the sky helped me work out exactly how many tributes were left. Us five, the girl from three, both tributes from six and the boys from seven, eight and eleven. Over half of us gone. And just six more before the careers were scheduled to turn on me and break our alliance.

The pond waiting at the end of the swamp seems even more gloomy and mysterious at such an early hour. For some reason, this intrigues me. I run in to its open arms as I would run to a loved one's embrace, getting a good grip on the mud and reaching down to touch the water. I spy the fishes roaming around as freely as they had done at the time of my last visit, and the water reeds dancing steadily in the fine morning breeze. Snapping myself out of the trance my surroundings seemed to have trapped me in, I bend down to retrieve the first of the weaved baskets. Filling it to the brim with the murky solution, I raise myself up again to balance the basket in the reeds. Only to be faced with two glassy yellow eyes, coated with khaki scales, which blanket the creatures face, only parting when it comes to a set of sharply manicured jaws.

I know it is the worst possible thing I can do in this situation, but never less I release a panicked scream. I have seen these creatures in biology books at the school, dangerous, bloodthirsty creatures who lurk below the waters in humid atmospheres, waiting patiently to pounce on any prey that may wander by. But something about it, perhaps the enhances gleam in its sandy eyes, or the strength it possesses when it hoists itself nearer and nearer towards me, tells me that this in not just an ordinary alligator. No, this is a genetically programmed animal, created for one purpose and one purpose only, to feed on helplessness of vulnerable tributes. This was a muttation.


	12. The Attack

I pierce a spear through the ugly head of the creature. At once, it seems to expire, however more of the species are appearing from the pond, sinisterly starting to wade over to me. I run. Faster than I have ever run before, and considering I was known in the district for being one of the fastest sprinters at the school's annual sports day, that is pretty darn fast. I am a significant way ahead of my attackers, but I cannot afford to stop and let myself catch a little air to feed to my collapsing lungs. My screams for help are becoming more and more strained, and my hope of escaping this terrible fate is disappearing before my eyes. The mutts are quick. Quicker than any sort of naturally conceived reptile could pace itself. Their snapping jaws and unpleasant grunts create a backing track to my dramatic attempt to escape.

Shadows dark head pops out from around one of the bushes at the opening of the swamp. When she sees the creatures, I swear her eyes pop out of their sockets a little. Unconcerned by my safety, she immediately starts off back to the camp, starting to shake and shout the boys away from their dreamlands and back in to our now very lethal reality. I have reached the entrance now, and the mutts are so close to my heels I can practically feel the vibration of their snapping jaws. By some stroke of brilliant luck, Noah is witnessing this from not so far off, and is able to send a cluster of arrows in to the bodies of the closest of the bunch. Either wounded or deceased, I am safely ahead of the creatures once more. I cannot stop though, not even for a moment, and my breathing is almost nonexistent. I feel like I am choking on the air, that it has suddenly became piousness and in-consumable. I know it has not, that this is all in my head, that it is just a panic attack on a much larger scale, but somehow this does nothing to calm me. As doesn't the encouraging words Noah is screaming at me from the cornucopia. "Run, Annie, run! You're almost there now!" The rest of the pack are already there. Sprawled out safely on the surface of the cornucopia, the very safe place I had departed from in order to avoid their thirst. I can feel the vague snipping of the muttains teeth at my ankles now, if I stop for a second, my lower leg will be torn to shreds. I am only a few feet from the others, a few feet away from safety, but I cannot go on. I collapse to the ground in a heap, crushing some of the creatures as I fall. But not enough of them. I feel their teeth rip in to my ankle, enduring me with an indescribable pain shooting up my left foot and calf muscle. In this moment, I am sure it is the end. I am sure that nothing more can be done, the venom of their bite enough to finish me off, enough to make me un-saveable. Even when Meeti begins tossing knife after knife in to the backs and bellies of the remaining mutts, slaying them all in a matter of seconds, I am not convinced that I will last the day. My ankle is throbbing and my limbs trembling. My mouth is as dry as sand paper, desperate for a drink of oxygen.

"Quick, get the first aid kit!" Meeti yells to a dumb-struck Shadow. Before I can completely regain consciousness of the situation, I find Noah and he crouched on the ground beside my injured my foot, first aid kit at their side. "Do you think she's gonna need stitches?" Meeti asks Noah, his voice strangely oozing with concern. "I'm not sure. It couldn't hurt…"

"I'm… fine." I mumble, sitting myself up to lean against the cornucopia. "Just… keep it… bandaged for a… while." I instruct, indicating at the roll of white cotton placed in the centre of the kit. Noah gently patches up my wound, and then helps Meeti as he hurls me back upright and lays me down on one of the grass mats. "Just rest for a while, okay? None of this is your fault." He whispers to me, grazing his chapped lips on my cheek. I decide I do not hate him any longer. "Okay." I manage to whisper back to him. I watch as he bounds off to where the others are coming to terms with what has just happened. I am surprised to see they all looked very concerned about the whole affair, until I realise the pond was our only water source, apart from the few bottles of water we had left. "For all we know, the game makers could have them come pack at the switch of a button." I hear Merlin groan irritably. "And we know they're pretty dangerous things…I mean, look at the state of Cresta." Shadow chips in, stealing a horrified glance in my direction. I must look even worse than I feel. A feverish heat seems to be seeping in to my skin and I feel light headed, as if I had just spun in circles until dizziness had consumed me. My bandaged ankle has now gone completely numb, but I can feel the rest of my burning limbs throbbing repeatedly. Growing increasingly worried about my well being, and more and more pessimistic about any possible recovery from this bite, I try to hurl myself upwards in to a sitting position, but find I am too weak to do so. A wave of panic attacks me once more, and the everlasting bucket of oxygen is being moved farther and farther from my reach. I gasp, like a fish out of water, desperate for somebody to put me back in to where I feel comfortable. Desperate to be back home.

"Annie, Annie, are you okay?" Noah hurries over to me, his hand resting on my scalding forehead. "She's burning up,

and fast. Oh my god…" He panics. "Breathe Annie, okay, just try and keep breathing for me now." He encourages, as if the very motion was possible with him freaking out in front of me.

"Maybe we should just kill her now, Meeti. It'll be easier for us and more peaceful for her. Its obvious she's not going to make it through the day." Shadow mutters, at least having the grace to seem a little horrified and ashamed at her own suggestion. I see Meeti in my outer vision considering this option, as if on cue, a small metallic parachute lands at Noah's feet. Before the others can claim it as their own, he unscrews the shoot from the small case attached to it. Inside is a small pot and a note. "It's from Finnick." Noah mumbles, handing me the line of tattooed paper.

_Apply twice a day until healed._ _I won't let you die. F x _

Before I can even begin to wonder what miracle Finnick had sent to postpone my death, Noah is massaging a cool, relieving cream on to my wound. It stings outrageously, but the cooling sensation afterwards makes the pain more than worth it. I struggle not to cry out, but the reward of the after effects of the cream is enough to motivate me to try and stay quiet. "Amazing." Noah breaths, obviously a astounded at the whole affair as I. Within minutes I am feeling a lot more steady headed and calm. My body temperature seems to have fallen dramatically and I am beginning to regain feeling in my foot, despite it being a rather painful sort of feeling.

Meeti instructs Shadow and Merlin to go collect berries from our bush, and to mush them and the remaining berries in to a juice as a supplement for water. Noah stays by my side, eager to assist me in any way possible. It's a little annoying, but of course I can't let him know that. His guiltiness and keenness to help is extremely sweet, and therefore outweighs the slight aggravation he is causing me. He had helped save my life, and not even for the first time, after all. So I allow him to speak to me in a soothing and rather patronizing tone, but I do not listen. Instead, I think of Finnick. I realize that since arriving in the arena, this is probably the first time I have allowed my thoughts of him to roam. So far, I have kept them so tightly under lock and key not even a hint of one could drift in to my mind without permission. But how could I not think of him now, when he had as good as just saved my life? Visions of his gleaming springtime eyes and his bronzed complexion waltz through my mind. Little things, the way his precise jaw jutted out slightly whenever he smiled, the sound of his sunny laughter and the feel of his touch, seem as familiar as they have ever been. But I find myself unable to imagine his tone, a portrait image of his body or the colour of the pants he wore almost every day, even to many important Capitol occasions. This angers me. Three days and he seems to be fading from my memory already. Seventy two hours and he is slowly loosening from my grip. From then on-wards, I promise myself to keep Finnick Odair as fresh in my mind as the springtime his eyes and nature reflected. If I do not, there doesn't seem to be much point of carrying on.

* * *

After this day, the antics of arena life becomes very uneventful, to say the least. Meeti decides there is no use to continue hunting the tributes down, not with so few of us left, so instead we spend our days lounged around the cornucopia, occasionally fleeing from the camp to catch some game and other edible recourses. Two days after the muttation attack, Merlin and Noah brave themselves, armed with numerous weapons, to go back to the pond in search for drinkable water. Fortunately, the creatures are nowhere to be seen, so the boys return with several baskets filled to the brim with purified water, not to mention handfuls of fresh gleaming silver fish.

The pack are considerate enough to leave me be for the most of the time. By the third day of applying Finnick's magic cream, the wound has almost completely healed, but for some reason I am still being treated as an injured party, something I am more than happy about, meaning I have an excuse to get out of doing particularly unpleasant chores. In fact, the only time I have been forced to move from my singular sleeping bag is to trudge down to the swamp with Shadow to bathe on the sixth day, it being our only source of water in our current knowledge.

Returning to a place that holds such traumatic memories is hard to say the least, but something about not travelling there alone, even if my companion is someone as self centered as Shadow, eases my nerves. In fact, I even find myself enjoying the feel of the silky water kissing my exposed skin once more. Feeling the moist skin of the fish against lap against my thighs and letting their familiar aroma waft through my nostrils. For the first time since the stargazing session, I feel comfortable and contented. I wish I could spend all of my remaining days here, spread flat out against the waters smooth surface, letting my thoughts and feelings dance freely, dreaming of returning home, of the prideful faces of my family and neighbors, of being with _him_. But of course, bathing in the pond for more than the sufficient length of time is a far too risky activity to carry out. At any moment, the mutts could make a sudden reappearance, and this time I might not be so lucky to escape. So instead of indulging myself in such a risk ridden luxury, I simply hike through the high grass that morning, cautiously following Shadows lead, and as soon we reach the pond, watch my companion strip off. I mean completely exposing herself, not just removing her combats and t-shirt, but her undergarments too, seeming completely unfazed by the fact that the whole of Panem had their own private viewing of her most private areas. Shadows body is slender but by no means childlike, unlike my own yet to blossom breasts and narrow waist. Her bosom rests comfortably on her ribcage, faded rose nipples positioned centrally. Her stomach is flat but her hips wide but unmistakably feminine. Thighs, upper arms and calves strong and firm, painted with a slight vague ripple of muscle. Her prominent collarbones collect the water falling for her elegant neckline. The only way to describe her magnificent physique is that it is the one of your typical desirable female victor.

I am a little more sheepish about undressing myself. I remove my clothing with no difficulty, but find myself standing awkwardly in my vest and underpants for a moment or two, wondering how to do this whilst maintaining as much modesty as possible. After careful deliberation, I hug my arms over my chest and begin to pull the vest over myself. When I reach my interlocked arms, I come across a problem, and am finally forced to expose myself. I lower myself in to the water steadily, still half in my vest and fully in my panties, I allow myself to remove the remains of the vest. I let myself sink deep enough not to give the audience a prominent view of my bust, as I slide off my water sodden panties. Shadow has almost finished bathing by this point, and I am certain she will not be reluctant to leave me to my own devices as soon as she has finished, so I quickly swim to the bank of the pond and lay my undergarments out to dry in the sunshine whilst I banish myself of grime and body odour. Shadow's clothing is all as dry and dirty as they had been before our trip, and she is beginning to hoist herself in to her garments piece by piece, as my vest and panties are still taking their time sunbathing. "Don't leave me, please." I find myself pleading to her. The expression that conquers her face is one of both glee at my dependence and annoyance of my cowardliness. Never less, she stays, bathing herself in the heavenly sunshine alongside my undergarments, in nothing but her own. In a way, the whole experience is sort of nice. Peaceful and calming, as if time has been frozen for a while and she and I are trapped in a lovely sunshiny haze. But of course, this is only me dreaming once more. Eventually my garments dry and I am forced to bare my naked body to the hidden cameras, unable to hide it under the safe depths of pond water, this time around. Shadow turns away awkwardly as I hoist my panties over my damp legs and veiled over my genitals. However, she cannot help but sneak a peek at my chest, two pathetic little mud holes in comparison to her mighty mountains. She stifles a laugh but not well enough, her mockery is far from disguised. Even when I'm staring death in the face, when I am in a place where survival is all that should matter to anyone, I am still being made to feel self consciousness of my lack womanhood. It just goes to show, something's never change, no matter what the circumstances. Girls still judge and prejudice other girls on something as trivial and unimportant as the size of their bust.

* * *

That night, as we all huddle round the fire, shoveling our mouths with exotic bird and a delicious minty shrub the boys came across whilst hunting for game, we hear the shot of the first cannon to be fired in days. The last death had seemed to be the one of the boy from five three days before, and the signalling of tragedy seems to bring us all back to reality. For the past couple of days, it hadn't seemed like we were taking part in the Hunger Games. In fact, things had become sort of bearable. We'd each settled in to our own individual routines, had gathered plenty of supplies and felt comfortable the chance of attack was very unlikely. And even if another group of remaining tributes had the nerve to take us on, we had more than enough confidence that we'd be able to defeat them. The whole affair had become like a sort of mediocre holiday from reality, and in fact, the reason for its mediocrity was simply because of the dull atmosphere the arena had seemed to of inhabited. The sound of that cannon reminds us all where we really are, that at any moment, the game makers could take us out and turn our worlds upside down all over again. Perhaps they had even killed this poor tribute to demonstrate this point. It all seems such a muddle, such an impossibly complex tangle of possibilities to me, I can't even force myself to bother working it all out. Instead, I just sit and bathe in the humid air, thinking thoughts of optimism to increase my mental and emotional strength. These thoughts mainly consist of a certain someone, of course. I spend what seems like hours, studying the memory of his beautiful facial features, determined to imprint them in to my mind forever. I allow myself to think of our future, even though I am still unsure as to if such a thing exists, even if somehow I do come out of this arena alive. The idea of us jumping to and from each others neighboring houses in the victors village excites me, the image of him spending the night holed up in my bedroom, rocking me and stroking my hair and face until I sail off to sleep. Maybe one day, if our love is destined to last, we'll live together fulltime and maybe even marry. Of course, after marriage comes the great probability of children, and I find the idea of becoming a mother a little too overwhelming and difficult to come to terms with in the height of my current youth, so I halt my dreams at marriage for the time being.

Once I begin thinking of Finnick I struggle to stop. In fact, it feels as though I spend the best part of the next forty eight hours lost in a world of extravagant dreams about the two of us. The others try to speak with me, but why should I converse with them? If I want any of this magical future to go ahead, I have to keep myself alive. And in order to keep my heart beating, there is a good chance I may have to stop the thumping of one my allies. I cannot deny they have become a sort of dysfunctional family to me, even the perverted Meeti, and I realise only now this is a family I must cut my ties with very soon. The death of whoever must have been taken out today will occupy the Capitol audiences for maybe a day or so, but soon the game makers will be looking to bring all us tributes together in a mighty battle, a battle which is destined to wipe out at least half of us. Any annual watcher of the game knows this, can see that the time for the games closure is fast approaching. I must cut my ties with them all, even dear Noah, and fast, if I have any chance of surviving the Hunger Games.

* * *

On the eighth day, together we are brought. I am woken by the panicked squeals of Shadow, who's been on guard for the past two nights, and a firm shoulder shake from Noah. "There's a fire. We have to move, quickly." He informs me, just as my eyes meet a waterfall of fierce orange flame heading for the cornucopia. He tugs my arm so hard I swear I can feel it come apart from my socket, but the wave of fire is becoming closer and closer to embracing us, so I decide it is not sensible to complain. Before I can get my bearings, I find myself hand in hand with Noah slightly behind the rest of the group, being chased through the jungle by the roaring fire. It is coming at us from all directions, only leaving a small path free from flames, an obvious indication that this was no coincidence, but the careful doing of mankind. Noah and I stumble down the path, coughing and spluttering the poisoned air from our fatigued lungs, after the others.

It seems like hours before we reach the lake. It is a little like the swamp but cleaner and larger, soft grainy sand replacing the high grass and the water a significant amount clearer. Pretty palm trees and faded lime reeds decorate the scene. An large, metallic dam has been built not to far away, however this the first time I have noticed its presence. Although for some reason, which could only be down to man intervened circumstances, rain had not sodden our camp, I was vaguely aware that the rainforest had had several downpours since our arrival, causing the need of the a gate to prevent severe flooding, I suppose.

On the other side of the river, stands the remaining tributes, seeming as equally injured and fatigued by the fire chase as ourselves. The anthem in the sky just hours before had confirmed that another tribute had fallen, the dark skinned boy from eleven. Now, we are face to face with the remaining. Antridothia, the girl from three, whom only now seems of enough importance to refer to by name, the small fierce eyed pre-teen female from six, Drodia, I remember her being called, and her district partner whom I can still not recall a name for. And the boy from seven, another nameless face but the most terrifying of the lot, as he was the district partner of my one and only kill. What if he had found out her death was my doing? What if he had an uncontainable thirst for vengeance? I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, escaping reality for one more moment, possibly for the very last time.

* * *

When I open them again, the battle has already begun. Merlin and Meeti are wading through the river, the water lapping at their waists, meeting up with the boys from six and seven. Immediately, Meeti tries to pierce a spear in to the boy from sixes skull, but the boy dodges and the spear falls in to the water instead. Quickly, the boy from seven retrieves the spear and stabs it violently in to Meeti's arm, injuring him profoundly, but not enough. As he roars in pain, Merlin captures the boy from six from behind and puts him in a suffocating headlock. Noah and Shadow rush into the lake, helping a now much more helpless Meeti, pin down the boy from seven on the bank of the lake. Antridothia and Drodia are interfering now, trying to wrestle my allies body off the boy from seven, biting and grabbing Meeti's hand as he goes to plunge a dagger in to the boys heart. It works. Meeti has no choice but to release the dagger, letting it float in to Antridothia's clutch. Violently, she stabs at Shadow and Noah's hands, until they have no choice but to let the boy be released as well.

Merlin still has his muscular arms wrapped tight around the neck of the boy from six, but with three members of their alliance still relatively unharmed, this victory does not look like it is destined to last for much longer. Meeti, Noah and Shadow are all bleeding vigorously, so Merlin's only hope of back up is my incapable self. I must try though, we are allies, after all. He's kept me alive this long, and for that, I should show my thanks. I grab for Shadows stack of bow and arrows that rests against a nearby palm tree, insert an arrow in to the wooden bow and aim for Antridothia's forehead. Being inexperienced with the weapon, I miss profoundly, but end up creating a rather significant wound on her forearm instead. It does the trick. She falls backwards in to the water at once, tugging vigorously at the insistent arrow now plated securely in her vein. Scarlet rain pours from the wound, temporarily blinding both her and the boy from seven. Little Drodia, clearly incapable of taking Merlin on by herself, quickly climbs to safety, hurling herself messily on to the river bank. The boy from six's neck is still positioned tightly in Merlin's grip. He gives me a quick wink in gratitude and begins his strangulation method once more. Within seconds, a cannon is fired.

Drodia falls to the ground on which she had previously been standing on. On her face, grief and distress is written in bold italics, as she gracefully mourns for her district partner. Antridothia is angry enough at this set back to manage to retrieve the bloody arrow from her insides and to throw it in my direction. I dodge swiftly, only just avoiding it puncturing my neckline. Aggravated by this, Noah swings for her, trapping her legs with his hands, Merlin wading over to back him up. The boy from seven is over to assist his ally like a shot, feebly stabbing at my teammates, preventing them from slicing Antridothia's throat with their swords. From the corner of my vision, I spy Meeti slaying the boy from eight, whom must of joined the party without his presence being detected. Small boned and pasty with a mop of overgrown curly hair, it's a great surprise the poor boy has even made it this far. I suspect he had hidden somewhere spectacularly secret and unexpected. Until the fire had driven him out of his private burrow and lead him to his death. I watch helplessly from the sidelines as Meeti stabs him repetitively, until a second cannon is fired.

Shadow is standing next to me on the careers side of the riverbank. Her hand and lower arm are mutilated severely, and try though she might, she cannot seem to stop the blood pouring out of her wounds. Bound together by our incapability, mine because of my non violent and cowardly nature, and her because of significant injury, we sit and watch our competitors take each other out. Meeti had joined Merlin and Noah in the battle between Antridothia and the boy from seven, Drodia still perched on the other side of the river bank, lost in a disoriented state of bereavement. If Shadow and I was up to it, we could take her out easily, but we are not, so we just sit and let her mourn in peace. A decision I would later come to regret enormously. Shadow rips a piece of the fabric from her rain coat, and wraps her injured arm in it, creating a make-shift sort of bandage. "I can't just sit here and do nothing." She mutters, hauling herself back up to assist the boys. I decide I must force myself to do the same.

I lower myself in to the river behind her, steadily swimming over to where Antridothia had escaped Noah's hold at the riverbank, and is now fighting Meeti off with a spear. Noah and Merlin are together trying to wrestle the sword the boy from seven has out of his clutch and in to their own, and Drodia is still weeping helplessly at the sidelines. I let my gaze lock on her for a second, that tear stained face and those disdained eyes, belonging to somebody that cannot be described as anything other than a child. I am certain she cannot be older than thirteen, just being introduced to the adventure of adolescence, only to have it taken away with a blink of an eye. Even if somehow she managed to take out the rest of us and became victorious, she'd never be able to get back the golden days of her stolen teenage hood. I am so transfixed by these somber thoughts, chasing each other recklessly around my brain, it takes me a while to be brought back in to focus and to realize that my observant is rummaging for something in a rucksack. Before I can even apprehend what is happening, she has pulled out a large axe from the sack and throwing it in to the boys from sevens open hands. I have been brought back from my daze and am now aware of my surroundings again, aware of Antridothia and Drodia yelling at their ally to kill my own and the panicked dodges of my friends trying to desperately avoid the swinging axe. Aware of Noah being caught off guard by the girls screams and not dodging quickly enough, sending the axe ripping through his throat,sending his head tumbling downwards in to the water.

* * *

**Authors Note: **

**So Noah's dead guys!:(**

**I felt myself getting a little teary eyed whilst writing this chapter, its so sad! If I had complete control over how he could die, I would of possibly done it in a more sensitive and less gruesome way, but Susanne Collins specifically states that Annie's district partner is beheaded, and the last thing I want to do is drift away from the facts! **

**Just two more chapters to go now until Annie becomes victor...and is reunited with Finnick at last! I am so excited to write about their reunion and have some very unexpected plot twists up my sleeve for the oncoming chapters, so please keep reading and let me know what you think!**

**As always, reviews, advice and compliments are very much appreciated. I spend hours working on my writing, and though I enjoy it tremendously, it takes up at least two or three hours of my day per chapter, and knowing my work has been enjoyed really means an awful lot to me! **

**Keep reading and I love you all!:)**

**Lauren x **


	13. The Silent Screaming

He doesn't die straight away. I remember learning in Science class once that once a person is beheaded, their brain can still be active for up to twelve seconds prior to the event. I count seven. Seven slow, exaggerated seconds of witnessing Noah trying to scream, unaware he now has the incapability to do so. Seven seconds of watching my best friends eyes almost pop out of their sockets from fear, his expression filled with pain, desperation and helplessness. Seven seconds to ruin any hope that I could ever win the games. Perhaps I still had a slight chance of becoming a victor, returning home to my family and my friends, _victorious_. But I won't of won. The best I can hope for now is survival, and I'm not even sure if that's something that sounds desirable to me, not anymore.

I am aware of a lot of things in that moment. The cheer of triumph escaping the mouth of the boy from seven, Shadow immediately launching herself his direction, hands clasped tight around a spear, the look of pity Merlin throws in my direction. I notice it all. But I don't want to. All I want to do is run away and hide until finally the game makers or nature or the other tributes decide to have their wicked way with me. I don't want to live. Not now, not without Noah. But I'm not ready to die, not yet, anyway. So that's what I do, I runaway. As soon as that darn cannon is fired I run to the bank in which Drodia is sitting, still a little snotty from her breakdown but certainly more than a little smug, and in to the lush green jungle. I can hear Shadow and Meeti's curses, the sharp swoop of somebody's knifes rushing through the air in a bid to capture me. But I am fast. Its not long before they give up on bringing me back to them, until they simply let go, deciding among themselves, I'm sure, when the time comes, they will make me pay for betraying them.. But I am past the point of caring. So I continue to run. The speed in which I am racing in-between the amazons' tree's is cancelling out any emotions, any thoughts, anything that forces me to _feel_. And I like it. I don't want to feel. Feeling only causes pain, and I can't deal with this pain, not for any longer. The Capitol has won.

* * *

I finally come to my senses and realize I cannot run from anything forever. Not even myself. So I start to search for somewhere to set up camp. I allow myself to stop for a while. Perch my shaking body on the moist jungle mud, tipping out the contents of the rucksack that is still slung over my shoulders, I delve in to discover what it encloses. Not much, it seems. A half empty bottle of water, a box of almost full matches, an untouched bottle of purifier and a piece of broken rope. That's it. Not that it matters all that much, not anymore. I walk for a little while longer until I find a hidden alleyway, located in what must be the north west of the jungle. A little down to curiosity, but more down to the fact that I was getting desperate for a place to rest, I proceed down it. The walkway is relatively long and narrow but at the end of it a magnificent scene lingers. A luscious miniature waterfall decorated with pastel water flowers awaits me. Underneath it lies a large pile of damp rocks, identical to the ones that tower above it, and that is where I head to after taking in the setting. I don't know why, it's as if some sort of giant arrow had appeared in the sky pointing in this direction, it's called natural instinct, I suppose. I allow my head to be drenched by the falling water, gripping the rocks to steady myself, when all of a sudden rubble comes apart in my hand. In shock, I peak inside the significant sized broken part in the wall, and am surprised to see a sort of secret cove. Before I can even apprehend what I'm doing, I find myself clutching on to every part I can of the wall, until a small girl sized hole forms in the rocks. I subconsciously clamber myself inside.

When I enter my new hiding place, it feels as though the last ten minutes of breaking and throwing rocks to one side had never even happened. I do not know how I had gotten to such a place, it is as if I had been magically transported there by some sort of strange supernatural force. Panicked and confused by this, I find myself falling to the ground just as Drodia had, wrapped securely in an invisible cloak of agony and despair. The scene is being replayed before my very eyes, the slick throw of an axe from Drodia, falling gracefully in to the hands of her ally. The almighty swing of the weapon as it smashes in to Noah's throat. The silent screaming. The pleading eyes. The boom of the cannon. The performance is on mute, but it does not vanish when I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, in a desperate bid to escape it all. It's played in slow motion, only enhancing the tragedy factor of the whole event. Over and over the film rolls, until the vision triggers the muffled sounds of my teammate's screams and our fiends laughter, to come out to play as well. I thought the images were bad. But somehow the melody of yelling and taunting and torturing, are somewhat are even more unbearable. It is not just the scene of Noah's final moments that my ears are being fed, but all of it. The haunting soundtrack of the entire games. The panicked yelp escaping from the redhead from seven as my spear takes her down. The desperate pleading, belonging to the boy from eight, as Meeti readies his sword. Noah's beautiful, uplifting laugh, which I had taken for granted for all this time, not allowing myself believe that the sun cannot shine forever. But it hadn't. Noah was gone. And it was all my fault.

I scream. Nobody can hear me. This is because the screams are silent, like his had been. Silent, but there. Silent, but _prominent_ and_ important_. Silent, but dragging along just as much pain and hurt, as any cry that reaches ones ears. Maybe more so. Because when an individual screams silently, it indicates that your disdain is so severe and so outrageous, it has stolen your voice. All it has left you with is that wounded expression to let people know, that you are broken. That you need someone to come along and repair you. However, nobody can hear these screams, lingering in the silence. Either that or they choose to not acknowledge them.

* * *

I must of passed out. I wake up the next morning, convinced that I have died in my sleep. Everything around me seems soft and fuzzed around the edges, as if I am trapped in a dream. They're still screaming. Laughing, taunting, begging. All of them. All of those fallen tributes, that have taken to rest in my mind. I am dead. I am dead, and this is my punishment. Trapped in this arena for all eternity, with those sounds, chipping away at my sanity. Never less, I proceed to crawl out of the ball I have locked myself into, and up to the hole in which allowed me to enter the cove. It is most definitely at least mid morning. The sky is as blue as my mood and the air humid and peaceful. I notice a small metal rectangular box, attached to a silver parachute, balancing on the remaining rocks. The ongoing waterfall has saturated the parachutes fine fabric, but there is no second guessing as to what it could be. And from who had sent it.

This is when I am aware that I am not dead. If I were dead, it would be impossible for Finnick to send me a parachute. I was still alive. Still in reality. Still a participant in the 70th Hunger Games. I reluctantly unravel the parachute from the gift, to find a note from the man himself, identical seeming to the one Noah had presented me with when he had sent the medicine for my foot. But this time, the message is slightly different.

_Keep going. I'm not going to let them kill you. Finnick x _

The silverware container attached has a slide on lid that takes me a while to work out in my disorientated state. When I do though, the waft of rich fruity broth dances through my nostrils at once. It had been my favorite back in the Capitol, and Finnick knew this. A thick vibrant yellow broth, sweetly sour in flavor, dotted with large juicy pieces of fresh plumb and meaty hunks of lamb. On the second night of training, I'd eaten five large bowlfuls of the stuff. Noah had beaten me with six and a half. I was not sure at the time, if this is because he had a larger appetite than myself, or was even more crazy about the stuff than I was. Now, I'll never know. The broth brings a flood of agonizing memories, memories I am too fragile to endure right now. I put the broth back in its container, and rummage for my bottle of water instead, taking small delicate sips one after the other. When I am hydrated enough to function, I try to make a start on the broth again. But the first sniff I take of that rich aroma is enough to bring a waterfall of tears springing from my eyes once more. I spend my time till dusk sobbing violently, convincing myself if enough teardrops are summoned, enough heavy weeping sounds present, I will be able to block out the reminders of the previous day.

* * *

My despair is interrupted by the sound of the anthem and the illumination in the sky. The Capitols show does not banish the sounds and the visions, but fades them significantly, so for the first time ever, I am excited for its performance. Until I remember. Tonight, Noah will be starring in it. I prepare for him to be first, but he isn't. I don't recall hearing any other cannons fired after his, but I was in such a state, I wasn't exactly listening out for them. Instead of Noah, I am faced with Meeti. The ruthless killer who had supposedly had everybody to terrified to risk being taking on. Dead. The cocky perverted teenager who had prodded at my breasts. Dead. The boy who had led the career pack, who had kept me alive for this long. Dead. Dead. Dead.

His face looks beautiful, up there, highlighted with radiant light. But nowhere near as beautiful as Noah's, the next performer in tonight's parade. His eyes shine brighter than the glow that lines his figure, twinkling like stars in a shade of electric blue, present only in the depth of twilight. His fair hair flops delicately across his face, painted with a slight smile oozing with charisma and ambition. It's as if this smile is just for me. One last grin, before his face is to fade from my life forever. What little is left of my life, that is. "I'll be joining you Noah. We'll be together again." I whisper to myself. "Soon. When the time is right. Soon."

The boy from seven is dead. He follows the face of the boy from six, and to see this indication of his death brings me more satisfaction than I would have ever imagined. At least he'd paid for what he had done. Shadow, Merlin, Drodia and Andridothia remain. I'll be surprised if one of them doesn't sniff me out sooner rather than later. And if they don't, I'll find a way to end it, when I feel completely ready. There's so many ways. I can ignore the broth, go on a hunger strike. Rid of my remaining water and refuse to drink from the waterfalls, dehydration. Down the container of purifier, causing it to poison my insides beyond repair. I bet they've never had a suicide before. Not that I can recall of, anyway. I know people will be angry. Not just the Capitol, but my family, my friends, and most definitely _him_. But he of all people must understand how hard it is destined to be live in reality after having to survive in the arena. He of all people must know how painful it is. How distressing. How impossible a task it is to do, to carrying on living, unless you have strength. And there is nothing I posses less than even the tiniest bit of the stuff.

As soon as the last note of the anthem plays, another parachute appears from above. My initial instruction to myself is not to open it, to simply snub Finnick's attempts of saving me, but my curiosity gets the better of me once again. This container is a lot bigger than the previous, and circular. I lift off the metal lid to find two small loafs of bread from home. Salty, molded in to the shape of a fish and tinted green by seaweed, the sight of the gift makes me feel as though I am back in district four, brooding peacefully by the ocean once more. Beside the bread, lay several slices of cheese and chopped apple. A note balances on top one of the loafs.

_Eat. Finnick x _

But I don't. Instead, I leave the food balancing on the rocks, having had it fly down to balance right in the centre of the wall that separates my hiding place from the waterfall, as if I was supposed to believe that was some sort of miraculous coincidence. Just as the sudden gush of wind that interrupts the still air, sending the food flying in my direction almost instantly, was also in no way to do with the fact, for some bizarre reason, the game makers still wanted me in the game. Or Finnick had somehow made them want me to be.

I feel ashamed of myself, but I cannot resist the temptation, after having a still mildly warm, district four loaf, thrown in my face, not to at least have a nibble at some of the food. After a unimpressed scowl directed exactly at Finnick via the arena's many camera's, I break of a quarter of one of the loafs, layering it with a slice of thick cheese and a couple of apple slices. After swallowing my delicious snack, I feel significantly better in an instant. Something that aggravates me greatly, because, hey, I was trying to die here! Never less, I cannot deny how much warmer and comfortable I feel within myself. The visions of yesterday have fizzled out alongside my hunger, and the sounds of the trauma have been muffled, the volume significantly lowered. I even allow myself to finish of the remains of the water, promising to collect more from the waterfall in the morning in order to keep myself sufficiently hydrated. If I was to die, then I would die in my own way. Not from natural causes nor by the actions inflicted by my competitors. They wanted me to die? I'd die, alright, but only when I was good and ready. Until then, i'd have to maintain my pathetic attempts at strong will.

Only three, very small but very significant, activities allow me the capability to do this. Offering a little relief, a little comfort. And believe it or not, piercing my skin with one of the numerous shards of sharp rock surrounding me, is not one of them. The first, and the most insignificant of the lot is the harsh tones of the Capitol anthem, hushing the voices crusading inside of my head and diverting my attention from the unbearable, yet rapidly increasing anxiety, stewing in the pit of my stomach. The next is crying. Sobbing out my sorrows, only having them replaced with sharper, more excruciating ones, but it created a system, a system which flowed and allows me to securely keep my hold on my remaining shards of sanity. The last, however, was my true liberator. That piece of beaten up rope. When I twist and turn that broad thread until my concentration is completely diverted from anything other than creating a perfect, complicated and secure masterpiece. There's not much more I can add to this explanation of how a piece of battered twine became my hero. I suppose the most unlikely of objects are liable to rescue an individual in their time of sincerest need, and for me, this was very much the case, as it had been back in the training center, and was bound to be on many more occasions, if I somehow failed to take myself out.

* * *

Its day ten. The games usually almost always go on for over two weeks, but I suppose not this year, not with only four tributes left to get rid of. And who'd want to sit around watching a bunch of teenagers trembling like leaves in a fierce winter storm? No, the Capitol audiences want entertainment, and to watch the five of us either hunting, bathing or chatting about strategies or having an complete and utter emotional breakdown (like myself), is in no way up to their high standards of a 'good show', I'm sure. I give it another day or two. Meaning, I have another day or two to come up with some sort of plan, some sort of idea to show the Capitol they do not own me, and they never will. I refuse to be another piece in their twisted fucked up games.

I gather and purify the water from the waterfall in my bottle in the late morning, and drink a little over a quarter of it with my midday meal of broth and bread. The voices have gotten louder again, but I have gotten better at hushing them. I feel as optimistic as I can, in my dire circumstances. After a slight afternoon nap, I decide to venture out of my cove once more, this time to take a refreshing swim in the lake that the water from the fall lands. The lake is so narrow, even my slender body can just fit in-between the banks. It is long though, and more than capable enough to have a good swim in. For a while, I am contented. Like I was back at the swamp, floating on my back and watching the birds fly from cloud to cloud in the sky. Until I see them. Just as they were in my nightmare, the bloodless living corpses of the boy from five and girl from seven, coming for me. But this time, they've brought friends. Shimmer. The boys from six, seven and eight. Meeti. And lastly, trapped behind the others mob of limp bodies, Noah.

Their arms are hanging limply before them, their eyes all wide and bloodshot. Faces expressionless and bloodstained, pasty and inhuman. I begin to cry for some sort of help, even if it was just another tribute to execute me so I could escape this misery and join them, but I can't conjure any sound to escape my voice box. It has been stolen once again. So I scream silently, transfixed by my haunting attackers. They are slow, increasingly slow, which only raises the tension and aggravation, if they are to torture me, I'd rather they do it as quickly as possible. Suddenly, he is pushed to the front of the crowd. Noah. Before I can even speak to him, apologize for failing to protect him, for taking his friendship for granted, he is hauling his bloody head from his shoulders and in my direction. I feel it hit me square in the face. I scream. For real this time. A piercing sharp scream that could be heard from miles away. I know this, because it was.

* * *

As soon as I realize I have the capability to scream out loud again, I panic. It was loud enough to block out the traumatic noises, which I am now convinced will never properly leave my mind, which is a great indication of it being pretty darn loud. I immediately scramble back in to my cove, just as I hear the footsteps of something that is unmistakably human. "Cresta? Is that you? Where are you?" I hear Shadow yell in a needy tone, that I had no idea someone who possesses such cruelty could muster. "Look. I know what you think this is. But I got split up from Merlin, and I'm all alone and…please, Annie, please." I hear sobbing now, but I can still not trust her. How can I? She'd managed to convince the audiences in the Capitol she was as sweet as pie, convincing gullible old me that she was being genuine should be a piece of cake for her. One thing I will say about Shadow Shoreak, is that she's a darn good actress when she wants to be. So I stay silent. I press my body against the back wall of the cove, and wait to see if she'll spot the gap in the rocks and figure out where I've been hiding for the past day and half. But she doesn't. I've gotten away with it. This time.

I can feel his blood smeared on my cheek. It's still warm and thick. I want to make my way back to the lake to wash it away, but how can I with Shadow looking for me and the terrible reminder that just minutes before I was being chased by an army of corpses down there? So, I don't. I am unconvinced a little water would be enough to wash it away, the few shreds of sanity I still obtain tells me this. It's my mind. That had conjured up the corpses, created the feeling of hot blood splattered on my cheeks, summoned the screams and the cruel bouts of laughter. My mind. Damaged beyond repair. As to far gone as Harley. As Meeti. As Noah.

I try to sleep. All that panic has triggered my body to feel exhausted. But the cruelty of my broken mind does not rest with me. In fact, its ruthlessness is in full swing. It can't have been more than an hour before the nightmares begin.

* * *

In the first, I am back in my family's apartment. I am in the front room, perched on the sofa with Basil and Eden, listening to my sister speak about her day at school whilst gently petting the feline. At first look, it is a completely normal scene in my everyday life. At second, you may start to notice it. By it, I mean the layer of khaki green scales beginning to blanket my face, square my square, as if I was a floorboard being gradually tiled. Before I know it, Eden has noticed as well, and is grabbing Basil from my now scaly rough arms and screaming for my mother. I am turning in to a mutt. Before long, I am one, and not just physically. I am thrashing through the apartment, chasing after Eden and my mother, determined to catch myself a good meal. I am insistent and ruthless, I am exactly what every muttain ever created should be. But inside, I am screaming. Screaming at myself to stop, to leave them be, to return to how I was originally. That gentle considerate Annie, who had always care for others more for herself, even though it pained her to admit it. But I cannot.

I wake up just before I am about to take a large bite in to Eden's head. I have trapped her, mutilated her legs with my claws and struck her with an un-doubtable fear. I am just about to dig my teeth in to her scalp when I awake, drenched in a coat of my own sweat. I am shivering, and I do not know whether this is due to the sweat being strangely freezing or my inevitable panic at the situation. I feel clammy and breathless, my mouth is dry, but sipping vigorously at my water does nothing to help my condition. Without thinking, I make a grab for the broth, only to be hit with the an ambush of desperate yells and manic laughter. I look down and I see his face. His hair is the exact same shade as the liquid, the pieces of fruit and meat becoming numerous facial features. This is when I realize the yells and hysteria I am hearing is coming from my own mouth. And I cannot stop it. No matter how hard I try to calm myself, I am without success, the noises just keep flowing freely from my throat to the open air. I try and fumble for my rope, but my hands are to sodden to get a good grasp, and instead my only distraction rolls to the other side of the cave. I am granted no mercy. I eventually only manage to stop myself, by cramming my mouth with chopped apples until I am close to choking, and my body forces itself to pass out.

* * *

The second nightmare is much more disorientated and hard to follow. I am taken back to being cradled in Finnicks embrace, the only sound interrupting our heavenly peace in the blue room, is the melody of our weighted breathing. I feel infinite once more. My lovers steady hand is grazing my back gently, his perfectly rounded chin rests on my nestle of wild hair. Until his hand stiffens. It seems dangerously frozen, but before I can raise my concerns, I am locked in a mutual gaze with Meeti. Those disgusting hands, now blanketed in deep scarlet wounds and dark mud, are travelling to my breasts. I am trying to escape his clutch, but some sort of unexplainable force will not allow me to. However, before his fingers begin to wander any further, his bloodless hand falls to the beige carpet and cracks in to a waterfall of shards. Now I am staring in to the eyes of Noah. Kindness oozes from them, as a new, friendlier hand strokes my trembling skin. I am back to feeling relaxed, wrapped tightly in the embrace of my protector. But then, I find a axe placed in my hand. And this invisible outrageous force has complete control over me once more, and I'm starting to swing the axe in the direction of Noah, who's eyes burn disappointment in every pore in my skin and then…

I wake again. The circle of radiant light presents the idea to me that it must at least midday, meaning I have been at rest for more than enough time. However, I feel more fatigued than I ever can recall feeling before. My limbs ache and my sockets burn. My mouth had dried up once again, causing my tongue to plaster itself against the roof of my mouth, but I am to fear-stricken to even attempt rehydration. Instead I sit, for what seems like hours, trying to blemish away as much of the dream as I can. Then, I reach slowly in to the rucksack, narrowly avoiding a frantic grab for my rope, my one and only salvation, and instead pulling out the remains of the purifier. I bring the bottle to my lips, allowing myself to take in the sharp aroma of the solution. I am just about to take the first sip of the liquid destined to batter and burn my insides, when another parachute falls from the sky.

I can't seem to keep myself from opening it. The purifier would still be there once I had, and I couldn't die not knowing what he'd wanted me to know. Besides, you never know, maybe he agrees with my decision. Maybe the parachute is simply to deliver a note giving his blessing, perhaps something to ease the pain of the whole affair, or maybe even a piece of equipment to make killing myself significantly less aggravating yet just as certain. Stranger things had happened. However, not at all to my surprise, Finnick's gift gave me none of these things. In fact, as I had expected, it gave out the message of the exact opposite. The container attached to the parachute is a large square shape. Inside, I find a folded snug covered from top to bottom in some sort of unusual animal fur. On top of it balances a torch and that familiar scrap of white paper.

_Delve deep in to the snug, using the torch in order to find what I really want to say. Finnick x _

At first, the absurdity of this instruction baffles me, but I reckon I have nothing to lose by following it. The inside of the snug is a simple cotton, that feels soft and delicate against my skin. I pull the remains of the snug tightly above my head, and fumble for the torch. It takes me a while to find it. But when I do, I am astounded by his use of initiative and the length of the letter, handwritten and sown securely in to the centre of the fabric.

_Annie_

_Please don't do this, honey. Don't do this to me, to your family, to everybody else back in reality who are rooting for you. Nobody decent ever seems to win the games now days, so if not for yourself, do it for your country, bless them with the pleasure of having a respectable person win this thing for the first time in what seems like decades. As much as you seem to dislike yourself sometimes, I know for a fact even you can see you are decent, and so much more than that, in the eyes of your many admirers. Including me, of course. _

_Seeing you in this arena, it has made me more certain than ever that I want to be with you. That I love you. People may think it stupid, how I managed to convince myself I have fallen in love with a girl I have known for a matter of weeks, but it's not like that. When you feel it, real pure radiating love, when you really feel it, the time you've known the individual doesn't matter. Nor does the age, or the circumstance. As long as you know them, and you adore them for it, all their tiny imperfections and flaws, even the most irritating of qualities, no less that magnificently beautiful in your eyes, that is all that matters. In my opinion, anyway._

_When you come home, I want you to announce our relationship in your interview with Ceaser. I want the whole of Panem to know, I want them to be aware of how lucky I am, how contented. You see, I have never met anybody like you. Anybody so intelligent and mature beyond their years, so aware of the ignorance and disaster that surrounds us, even though you're the first to admit you haven't had the worst of Presidents Snows evil wrath. You're kind, forgiving, full of a burning love that you try so desperately, but so awfully, to disguise. You are honestly magnificent. Too much so that I cannot phantom the exact words to describe you. To me, you are my better half, I think. You tone down my arrogance, remind me of the seriousness of things I tend to obnoxiously humour. You make me laugh too, though. The way you are so adorably childlike and excitable at times, those witty comments and dry humoured jokes. I don't know, I know this sounds awfully full on and everything, but if it can save you, they why shouldn't I do everything I can to let you know. I don't want to hold back. I cannot risk the consequences' of doing such a thing. _

_What I'm trying to say, Annie, is that you are needed. That you returning from the games will be a significant part in not just my, but many others lives. I know it's hard right now. It gets easier though, I promise, and when you return I will be right here to help you, every step of the way, I swear down I will. If you poison yourself with that purifier, I don't think I will be able to go on myself. This is not a threat, merely an estimation of my reaction, and perhaps a promise I am currently oblivious too. _

_Do you really think any of the remaining kids are good people? I know you've grown close to some of them, but compared to you, they don't deserve to return, trust me. I know it's only my own opinion, but I hope that it means something to you. Noah wouldn't of wanted you to of given up so close to the finish line, not when he did so much to keep you alive, don't waste his efforts. Don't waste mine, or Tabiotha's or even Florrie's. Come home, for us. For me. _

_Stay strong, my little mermaid. I love you so. _

_Finnick x _

I feel the tears spring from my eyes at record speed. A love letter. Finnick had written me a love letter, sealed secretly away in one of the most intelligent ways I could think of, in order to save me. Not that I needed, nor wanted to be saved, but still, how could I bail on him now? Leave him alone in this nation? Still secured in the tight grip of President Snow and the rest of the Capitol officials, who sell and make a business from making a mockery of him. How could any decent individual, an trait Finnick had made very clear he though I exceeded, ignore this? Ignore his desperation, his fear of my leaving him?

But how long would this whole affair last? Really? This is Finnick Odair we are talking about here…self admitted bachelor and ruthless heart-breaker. Could I really trust him? As much as I wanted to, I could never be completely sure, not until it was too late, when I return home to find he has shacked up with somebody else, our time together in the blue room a vague memory hovering in the depths of his mind.

However before I can allow myself to deliberate anymore on this decision, my thoughts are interrupted and washed away by the mighty whoosh of a tidal wave.

**Authors Note: **

**Hey! Apologies, I recognize this isn't my best chapter, but I found the disorientated lay out of Annie's whole situation a challenge to write. However, I hoped you still enjoyed it, and are excited for the final chapter of the games!**

**This is to be quite a long note because there are a couple of things I need to clear up. Firstly, I would just like to make you aware of the official diagnosis of Annie's mental disturbance. Due to my research, I have found and decided to present Annie as somebody suffering with extreme **_**post dramatic stress disorder, **_**or PTSD for short. I thought it quite important to give you all a little information about this disorder, because I feel it is important for people to know about hushed mental disorders, such as PTSD. I have two friends who suffer from this illness, and I have suffered from symptoms due to my own troubles with mental stability, so I hope you proceed to read what I have to say. I know this is only a fictional story, and not many of you even regularly keep up to date with it, but this doesn't matter all that much to me. If I can educate even a couple of you on the basics PTSD, I will feel very satisfied with myself. **

**Post traumatic stress disorder is an anxiety disorder. After experiencing a traumatic event, such as being attacked, witnessing an incredibly violent scene (often related to war), being held hostage, being involved in a car accident or even being neglected or abused, it is natural for a person to feel a little shaken up by it. But with PTSD, that feeling doesn't go away within a matter of days or weeks. Not only that, but the reaction to the event is possibly slightly more exaggerated than one would expect a non sufferer to react to the event. The event still haunts the individual for months, maybe even years after the event took place. By 'haunts' I mean by displaying a variety of distressing symptoms such as; **

**-Flashbacks**

**-Delusions**

**-Nightmares**

**-Mild hallucinations**

**-Insomnia **

**Psychotic symptoms, such as hallucinations or extreme delusions, only tend to occur in the more severe of cases. Because the memory of Noah's trauma is still very raw in her mind, I have decided to make her symptoms a little exaggerated. I am not yet sure the degree in which I am going to play Annie's illness out to, but I just want to point out, the way I wrote Annie to behave in this chapter is not a typical case of the disorder. If are experiencing any of the symptoms listed above and believe it may possibly be down to PTSD, I urge you to get help, and I want you to know you can message me anytime. **

**Okay, so yeah, sorry if that bored you a bit but I felt like I needed to let you guys know a bit about what poor Annie's going through right now This chapter is just the start of her battle with the disorder, and I hope I am able to do professionals and suffers justice in my future writing about Annie's firsthand experience with the illness. **

**Secondly, just a quick note, I have pretty much planned out two sequels for 'Tidal-Wave…' **

**Would just like to get an opinion if you guys thought this would be a good idea, and would enjoy the continue reading about Annie's story? The second story follows Annie's journey as a mentor and the third her and Finnicks story during the revolution. I am also about splitting the narrative characters in two, instead of writing as just Annie, in these stories. So, yeah. Be completely honest please, I won't be offended if you disagree! **

**Sorry for this rambley long note, I doubt any of you bothered to read it but yeah, worth a try;) **

**KEEP READING;D **


	14. Becoming Victorious

**Authors Note: **

**Hey guys!**

**I haven't updated in a while because of problems I encountered with the story. However I have now sorted this problems and I should be reassuming to updating every two-four days as I used to!**

**However I have made a few small changes to the arena. After discovering that Susanne Collins had issued the breaking of a dam the reason for the flooding in Annie's arena, I have edited a dam in. In the depths of the rainforest, just behind the river in which Noah is beheaded, to keep the buckets of rainwater that falls throughout the day from flooding the whole location. I have also got rid of the ocean, as I feel this makes the arena to much like home for Annie, and I have no played enough attention to this fact, nor do I feel making the arena a even a remotely familiar setting for Annie, a wise choice. **

**If I could go back and re-write the past few chapters, I would probably completely re-create the arena in to a riverbank wasteland sort of place, however I feel I am too far into the story to make such a dramatic change. I hope you all do not mind this. I am aware that the location is fairly similar to the arena in catching fire, however I like to think I have put my own personal spin on it, and that I have done a decent job in creating it. If I haven't, oh well, I'm forbidding myself to stress about it any longer!**

**I have also added to the previous chapter 'The Silent Screaming' that Annie finds a slight comfort of tying knots in a piece of battered rope enclosed in her pack. I have added this as I think it is a small but significant detail that binds Finnick and Annie together, as Finnick finds comfort doing the same activity when he faces a similar level of distress in**_** Mockingjay**_**. **

**This is the final chapter of Annie's time in the arena. Afterwards come a string of shocking events that follow her crowning of victor, including deaths, conflict with her once so understanding family and her roller-coaster journey in to the depths of insanity. Please continue to read and review!:)**

**Lauren xxxx**

* * *

The taste of bland rainwater that fills my mouth as the wave overthrows me, conforms my suspicion that the breaking of the dam caused this monstrosity. An earthquake. That means a series of anymore waves as powerful as the latter was unlikely, however, it also indicates to me that at least half of the arena and its recourses will have been destroyed. The game makers plan is obvious. They were going to leave us to battle the flood for as long as we could, the strongest swimmer among the five of us being able to swipe the title of victor.

These are just a selection of the stream of logical thoughts that seep in to my mind as I find myself, bruised and bloody, face first and surrounded by lapping water, lying lopsided on the remains of the fallen rocks that enclosed my hiding place. I don't know how I did not notice the trembling ground that almost always throws an indication that the land is about to split. Perhaps I had been so occupied in my thoughts of Finnick, or more probably, the masterminds behind this plot had erased any possibility of any warning. Not that it matters. This is what my brain is telling me, but not for the reasons in which it was dismissing any deliberating before, because the very idea was pointless, I had given up, because now I cannot be further from this way of thinking. It's as if the logical part of my mind, the part stripped of any sentimentality and emotion, has pushed its way back to the very forefront of my brain, forcing the desperate, overwhelmed, distressed part to cower in the darkest corner, barley in sight. All that is rushing through my mind, all that is dictating my thoughts, is that I must win. No matter what. I couldn't off asked for a more ideal scenario.

The amount of water registers great shock among me. Surely this much rainwater was sprung upon the forest in such a short amount of time? It had to been unnatural, or obtained on the other side of the dam long before our entering here. It laps at my chin, no trouble for my well-trained limbs, but I can see that it gets significantly deeper onward, the closer we are brought to the broken dam. I paddle water for a while, whilst I gather my more than slightly disorientated bearings. What now? All that seems possible is to stay afloat for as long as my body will allow. Was I crazy to think I could do it? Probably. I mean, could my petite structure really outgo the brawny able ones of Merlin and Shadow? Even lanky Andridothia and stout Drodia, seem to have a significant more muscle fixed under her skin that myself. Does my experience really grant me as much benefit in this situation as I thought? I can feel it, that ugly, disheartening piece of my mind battling the sensible, knowing part that had been steering me soundly so far. It is winning. I can feel it, barging its way through, pushing its opponent to the side, taking over once more. Until the familiar boom of a cannon startles it back in to its corner.

The sound had come from the direction of the lake. This is not a great surprise to me, as it seemed evident that it was a pleasant and resourceful enough place to camp out until something as outrageous as this was inflicted upon us. Of course, whoever had just been taken out had never expected it to be the least safe place to be located when the infliction was struck, however, neither was any of us, I am sure. I guess they just got unlucky. Not only does the tone of a fired cannon spur my brain back in to fighting mode, it also enhances its ability. As soon as the sound of the shot is echoing, I know what I am to do. I swim in the opposite direction the lake. The levels of water do not lower but stay exactly on par with what I had encountered before. I glide through the choppy substance at ease, nearing my destination more and more with every powerful strike of my arm. I am heading for the careers old camping grounds, that unpleasant strip of burnt sand. I feel steady and in control. Until I see her shaded mane spread across the water's surface, her muscular arms flapping about frantically, in an attempt to keep herself afloat. Shadow.

It takes all the little willpower I still obtain to ignore my former ally. She manages to let out a couple of muffled yelps, indicating her desperation for assistance, but I succeed to fade out the agonising sounds even more so. I slam my eyelids shut over my sockets, and continue on my quest, only allowing myself to be disturbed by the prolonged cackle of the cannon. Two down, two to go.

However, I have encountered a problem. My thoughts have proceeded to battle again, demanding an even fiercer, and significantly more violent, rematch. Disorientated memories and bearings crash in to each other, causing powerful feelings confusion and unknowingness to consume me. I am lost. So adrift that I feel completely absent and oblivious to everything, apart from that the fact the uncomfortable sensation of struggling lungs taking its toll once again. I have taken to positioning my hands over my ears to block out the terrifying noises, trapping my upper lip with my lower to contain the army of screams combating to escape. I need my rope to calm me, or to re-read that letter from Finnick, I know they are the only things that have any chance of doing so, but needless to say, both had been swept away swiftly with the other remains of my limited collection of possessions. My fatigued legs are now beginning to turn to a useless mush of jelly. I am sinking. I am going to die. I do not care. I am about to lower my head in to the river of rain for the final time, when my head violently embraces a fallen tree.

* * *

The crash knocks me out. I wake up slightly concussed and a more than a little puzzled, but somehow alive. The hue of the faded ashen strip of sky hovering above, indicates that the fall of dusk is near. I do not know if there is three or just two tributes that remain, but I am reassured that the nightly parade of the fallen will inform me soon enough. My viable body has allowed me to float a significant way down stream, and I wake just as I am about to take a second hit in to a firm but slightly broken jungle tree. It is still standing steadily in the ground, despite the quake, and the idea to take nest in it suddenly forms in my mind. Grabbing a half empty basket of roar berries I spy floating nearby, presumably the very basket and berries I had been responsible for all those days ago, and stashing them in to the pockets of my raincoat, I begin to haul myself on to the tree. My rest has recharged the capable quality that inhabits my limbs, making this challenge not as difficult as I had expected. Before I know it, I am snugly fitted in to the crook of one of the tree's branches, watching the river of rainwater flow and feeling the sharp burst of berries explode on my tongue.

The parade of fallen tributes has just two unfortunate cast members tonight. After the intimidating features of Shadow is illuminated before me, the sullen puppy fatted one of Drodia follows. She must of stayed by the lake, cloaked in bereavement and fatigue, after the battle at the lake came to a finish. Perhaps Andridothia had accompanied her, but she had the luck to be able to escape the vicious tide. I don't know. It doesn't matter, where Andridothia was at the time the earthquake, just the fact that had not been defeated by it. That she was still in the game. As was Merlin, as was I, and the fact that only one of us could remain that way.

The twilight that stretches ahead of me is far more pleasant that I can of ever imagined. The glistening moonlight reflects on the surface of the swaying water and the whole thing triggers a slight feeling of relaxation to spur inside of me. I am being granted my third short experience of contented bliss in the arena. I sit and spy the twinkling stars, creating complicated colligations and neat patterns among them. I even allow the dulcet tones of the seabird song take flight from my lips. I stay like this, flittering in and out of sleep, occupied by only the simplest and most harmless of thoughts, until the sun begins to wake, in unison with my drooping eyelids and growling stomach, until another quake is issued. This one is admittedly very faint, but enough to send the remains of my tree tumbling to the ground, bringing me with it. I land head first in to the water, creating a mighty splash as I land, but nothing anymore of an inconvenience than this. Everything else seems to be exactly how it was before this minor disturbance. It doesn't take a genius to work out that the quake had been pacifically issued to bring down my tree, and nothing more.

This is a little annoying, of course. I had allowed myself to believe that perhaps I could stay, huddled up in that tree, pockets full of berries and future full of promise, until Andridothia and Merlin finally surrendered. But even I can acknowledge that would be _way _to much of an easy way out, so I don't dwell on it. Instead, I force my arms to slice the water once more, my legs to oar steadily at a moderate pace beneath its surface. The reason I am aiming to stop my conquest once I reach the strip, is simple. Apart from the odd short breakage in the pattern, the rainforest always slants downwards, even if its slightly or severely, it always does and always has. The strip and the swamp are the only locations with level ground, making it easier to capture abandoned supplies and to keep myself afloat. Once I reach this area I am as safe as I ever could hope to be. Throughout my journey I hope to come across as many sources of food and weaponry as possible, and aim to prepare them when I reach my destination. I know the water that surrounds me is safe to drink, so there was no need to get my hands on any purifier, and I am certain there will be more than enough hunks of meat, fruit and edible plants, floating around if I begin to search for them. I feel more level headed and more the _old _quick thinking Annie than I have for weeks, going over my immaculacy detailed plan in my mind as I embrace this capacity of water as confidently as I do my ocean back home. But of course, the good never lasts, I should have been aware of this fact long before this moment, but I had naively allowed myself to believe the worst was over. When of course, I couldn't be farther from the truth.

* * *

I see her first. Her head coated in auburn hair, a startlingly similar shade to my sisters, bloodless hands grasped around a fallen branch to keep herself afloat. Merlin is a little behind her. Somehow, he had managed to get hold of a stack of arrows, and is positioning one his bow, pointed directly at his opponents skull. For the first time ever, I realize he is trembling. Proper shuddering almighty trembles of something which could be as much fear as it could the bitterness from the flood. His face is bruised from chin to forehead, his mouth drooping gormlessly and his nose slanting slightly too far to the left. His eyes, once so brilliantly blue, so radiant and full of life, now resemble those of an hunted animal, after making a hasty escape from its predator, spooked. Cautious. I watch as the arrow is slung by the bow string flies through the air, puncturing one of Andridothia's frost bitten hands instead. Immediately, her limp body crashes in to the water, scarlet leaking from her wound, desperately trying to keep herself afloat with her uninjured hand but failing miserably. I meet my former ally's gaze as the cannon booms.

Disorientated. Perplexed. Disconcerted. Bewildered. All perfectly liable words to be used to describe expression plastered on Merlin's face. Certainly not in any way bloodthirsty, vicious, determined. Certainly not in any way what I expected. This doesn't stop him wading over to me though, so he would have a better chance of getting his aim this time, obviously aware that it would take more than shallow wound inflicted on the hand, to take out a tribute from district four. The only district in which at least ninety seven percent of our population can swim at ease by the age of six, and the few that can't managing to do so long before the age they are required to have their name put in the reaping ball. Even Ava can swim, rather clumsily and perhaps a little slower than her peers, but powerfully, her strong breaststroke is by far the best in our age group. I glance back at him. The lost little boy look has been washed away by the water he is now rapidly wading through, in its place the mask I had expected to be faced with all along. Power hungry. Ruthless. Savage. And all of these hateful emotions being thrown in one direction; mine.

I swim like the fish swim from my Fathers net, brisk and rapid. Before long I am certain that Merlin must be out of viewing distance, but still I do not halt. My hard is rapa-tap-tapping against my sodden breastbone, moving in such an electric and uncontrollable manner it's as if its experiencing some sort of seizure. Part of me wishes this is true. That I can allow myself to surrender, to give in, knowing there's nothing more I can do to save myself. But I know it is all in my mind. My vulnerable, naïve, muddled mess of a mind. As is the disorientated breathing, the helpless face of Andridothia flashing manically before my eyes. She looks accessible. Exposed. Maybe even a little weak. And so she should. Just like her fellow fallen tributes, she was just a child. An adolescent with hopes and dreams, talent and promise, family and a future full of endless possibilities. But all that was taken away. Stolen from her in a blink of an eye, when her ignorant escort drew her name at the reaping that day. Just like the rest of us. Sure, perhaps Andridothia had fought a little harder than the rest. Been more reluctant to loosen her grip on that wondrous future, not letting sensitivity nor sentimentality block her way, however, that doesn't change a thing. None of it does. No matter how cruel, how brutal and inconsiderate any of us twenty four tributes were or are, it doesn't give the Capitol the right to snatch away our futures as if they weren't worth saving. It's despicable.

My thoughts are lapping each other, just as the docile waves are lapping at the strip between my mouth and my nose. The speed in which I am racing, is no longer enough to cancel out my overwhelmed state, and I have no choice but to allow the flights of tears brimming in my sockets, to crusade down my cheekbones. I am surveying my surroundings, desperate to find a place of with even the slightest chance of safety. I am about to lose hope, to give myself up to and be engulfed in the wrath of Merlin and his stack of arrows, when I see it. A sterling parachute and a large rectangular metallic box, delicate silver strings keeping the pair adjoined, balancing on the remains of a sturdy tree.

I make for the tree at once. It is not too far away, but far enough to require the remains of my limited supply of energy. I allow myself a couple of seconds to catch my breath, and then hurl my sodden yet aggressively sunburnt body on to the tree part. I grab for the parcel at once, which causes the flimsy parachute to string along behind, and unravel it without any apprehension. I couldn't lose. Not now. Not when I'd come so far. Inside the box lays a snug, identical to the one I had received the day before, but in darker, richer, shade. Lying on top of the comforting material is once again a torch, but also a fresh piece of ivory rope. The note accompanies them reads;

_You know what to do. F x_

And of course, I do. The ruins of the tree I am resting on is just about sturdy and wide enough to carry my weight and act as a sort of shaft, so I carefully lower my body in to the snug without much trouble. The fur that blankets it really is quite magnificent, soft and silken, yet more than capable of trapping some much needed heat. Though the air of the arena is still as muggy and humid as ever, my lower body is sodden with the increasingly bitter rain water, and being able to lower my soaked legs in to such a luxurious material is unexplainably wonderful. I grab for the torch and the bundle of sturdy rope, pull the two-sided blanket securely over my head, and start to search.

The writings positioned exactly where it was yesterday. Elaborate italics tattooing a field of ivory. I know what he has written before I even focus my eyes on the words. The peculiar yet comfortingly familiar layout gives it away. He has transcribed the words of the seabird song.

_When the oceans sedated_

_And the sky's seeming blue_

_When the sun is hiding behind the clouds_

_And a sprinkle of hope is more than due_

_Listen out for the seabirds_

_Their tones loud and clear_

_Because if you hear the seabirds singing_

_You know brighter times are near_

_Listen to their hopeful squawks_

_Spy their magnificent flight_

_Awe at their elegant wings_

_Admire their everlasting might _

_Clap as they capture a meal_

_Of oyster, crab or fish_

_Cheer at the thought if they can do it_

_To catch our own is far from a distant wish!_

_When the cod has seem to of scattered_

_And the salmon far from sight _

_When any trace of trout has vanished_

_And nothing seems alright_

_Listen out for the seabirds _

_They're tones loud and clear_

_Because if you hear the seabirds singing_

_You know brighter times are near_

_Listen to their hopeful squawks_

_Spy their magnificent flight_

_Awe at their elegant wings_

_Admire their everlasting might _

_Clap as they capture a meal_

_Of oyster, crab or fish_

_Cheer at the thought if they can do it_

_To catch our own is far from a distant wish!_

_When everything seems gloomy_

_And faith a distant dream _

_When bad luck seems never ending_

_And no-one can hear you scream_

_Listen out for the seabirds_

_They're tones loud and clear _

_Because if you hear the seabirds singing_

_You know brighter times are near_

_Listen out for the seabirds_

_They're tones loud and clear_

_Because if you hear the seabirds singing_

_You know brighter times are near_

_Yeah_

_Because if you hear the seabirds singing_

_You know brighter times are near._

_One more to go, Annie. Listen out for those seabirds. F x _

If each district had an anthem, the seabird song we be ours. Every citizen of district four knows the song by heart, it is sung sweetly by even the tiniest infants enrolled at the school, by tired wives in an attempt to soothe their babes to sleep, by crowds of jolly drunken fishermen, before and after a long fatiguing day at work. For us, it is a song of hope. A song that triggers positivity and optimism in even the darkest of times. The reason why Finnick enclosed the lyrics is rather obvious, yet I cannot deny the intelligence of doing so. The message of the melody cannot be more fitting, more relevant to my situation. The one thing I needed more than anything right now is hope, and Finnick, once again, has supplied me with what I crave, what I _require_, to keep struggling along.

I stay lying there for a while. Humming the tune of the seabird song to myself, and admiring the variety of hues that are present, as I watch the sun set above me. I know I had best get a move on, roll my snug that obtains my shivering body back in to the water, hiding me from my predator. But I can't seem to force myself to do, not yet. I just want to feel calm, mellowed, at home, just for a little longer. I imagine him here with me, my damp curls blanketing his chest, my ears following the steady melody on his heartbeat. The seabirds are singing, loud and clear, promising hope and a better future. I feel infinite. Safe. Happy.

* * *

The explosion of the final cannon, and the exaggerated tones of Claudius Templesmith announcing my so called 'victory',brings me tumbling back into reality. The truth hits me as hard as that upsurge of rainwater had, by an utter rush of unanticipated surprise. Panicked surprise. I hadn't meant for this to happen. I hadn't expected Merlin to capitulate so soon. I was aware he was badly injured, drained, maybe even a little diseased with god knows what, but dead? So soon? I'm not ready to leave this place, not yet. I'm not ready to face the sea of shallow Capitol people, the horde of my expectant friends and neighbors, the throng of officials demanding me to beam and gush and be appreciative. I'm not ready. I've not recovered from this monstrosity, and I can estimate I wont of done so for quite some time.

I have no choice but to allow fear to overthrow me once more. My lungs battle furiously to consume air, my lips are sweating from the scorching sunshine, yet tremble furiously. I feel my hands clench in tightly into secure fists, feel the sharp corners of my nail beds puncture my cracked, scarred, skin. I want to reach for my rope, tie some knots to pass the time, to distract myself. After all, distractions are the key, as I've always said. But I cannot. I am paralysed with horror and unbearable anticipation as I watch the bizarre Capitol flight machine hover in the distance. The closer it is to me, the more I notice. The familiar logo of Panem painted prominently on the bonnet, the harsh points of the triangular wings. Before I am able to take in anymore of this monument, so contrasting from the basic materials of nature I had spent the past thirteen days among, the vehicle is drifting in front of me, dictating my view, demanding to be seen. I shakily manage to position my feet on the metallic ladder, and continue to quiver vigorously as the Capitol retrieves me.

* * *

This hovercraft is a lot more elaborately decorated than the one that delivered us to the arena. Instead of dull pearly walls and a bare floorboard, the Capitol has been bothered to coat the walls in a sunny yellow shade, and have fitted the floor with a faded beige carpet. I am launched in to a room with a pleasant spring green sofa, a fur rug, and basic wooden coffee table decorated with two vases of some sort of exotic flower. To the right side of the sitting area is a door, presumably leading to pilots headquarters, and to the left a narrow corridor that I assume must lead to some sort of staffing area or kitchen. Dazzling chandeliers and geometric paintings hang proudly, the scent of sweet blossoms and fresh cuisine fills my nostrils. The whole scene is to bizarre for words. Just moments ago I had been surrounded by a destroyed wasteland, ruined beyond repair and sodden to the core, and now here I was, standing apprehensively in a pleasant lounge, being asked by a particularly polite Capitol helper if I would like something to drink. The whole thing was to much. To overwhelming. How could they pretend? Pretend that I hadn't seen what I had seen. Hadn't been thrust in to what I had been thrust into? Pretend that I wouldn't need any time to recover, to reflect, to put my trauma firmly behind me? The whole thing was rather perplexing, not to mention overwhelming. Which is why I don't believe I can be held responsible for what happens next.

I stare at the Capitol ladies lips, surgically altered in to a prominent pout and shaded lilac. I know she is speaking, simply asking if I require a beverage, but I can't properly take in what she's saying. Her words swim before my eyes, muddling up among themselves, making it more and more impossible to respond. "Sweetie? Are…are you okay? Do you want me to get the medics?" Her tone projects that she is worried. And this is when I realise I am perched on the balls of my feet, my hands pressed flat against the ground, my mouth hanging open gormlessly and my eyes unblinking. I want to answer her questions, tell her that I am just fine, and that I would love a warm cup of hot chocolate or maybe some fresh orange juice. Either would do just wonderfully. But I cannot. I have lost the power of speech, along with my sanity, my dignity, my youth and my innocence. I may of survived the Hunger Games, but I haven't won, I am not victorious, and I never will be. And that is when I begin to shriek.

The last thing I can recall before the medics are called to sedate me, is the look of utter horror on my servers face. Obviously she hadn't expected this sort of reaction from a newly crowned victor. Perhaps she had expected some light hearted, good natured chitchat, about what I would spend my new found riches on, about what I would say at my winning interview. Maybe she was new to the job, or perhaps none of the previous victors reacted in such a spooked manner, never less, the poor woman couldn't be more out of her comfort zone. I watch her as she departs the room, making her way down that mysterious corridor, leaving the medics to work their magic on me. Within seconds I have relented in to sleep.

* * *

When I wake, I find myself stark naked, buried in a mountain of crisp white sheets. The walls, floorboards, and every last piece of furniture and woodwork have been painted the exact same shade. The brightness of such illumination aggravates my eyes, yet I know I cannot allow myself to indulge back in to the wonderful world of nothingness, not until I figure out what is going on, anyway. I notice a large red button, the only reminder that other hues are still present, and assuming it was to summon assistance, I push it feebly. At first, nothing happens. I try again, forcing my weight on it a little harder, and still, nothing. I am about to give up and try and resume my slumber, when the golden head of an avox girl pops up from around the door. I recognise her from the days spent sitting around the dining room table with my team, gorging ourselves with heavenly dishes and engaging in polite small talk. She had been one of our regular servers. Its not like I had ever communicated with her much. I mean, its not as though she would be able to engage in even the most basic of conversations, not without the important tool of a tongue. However, she had been the only one out of the three regulars to throw a friendly and slightly comforting grin in my direction. And that was enough for me to count her as a friendly face. So seeing her now, when I feel more alone and isolated than ever before, dressed in a smart ivory tunic and flared pants, gives me the boost of reassurance I had been longing for. I allow a coy smile to play on my lips as my companion makes her way in to the room, a gesture which is returned with a joyful beam. The avox comes to my bedside, brings her hand to her mouth and kisses it, then places the bed in which the kiss was planted to my upper chest. A way of thanks, I think. Then she readjusts the piece of medical equipment I have only just realised I am attached to via my forearm, and I am flung back in to the blissful waters of oblivion.

The next time I wake, I am faced with an even more welcoming face. Finnick. His head is bowed so it is level with mine, his lips pursed, expression sombre. When he comes face to face with my widened eyes, attentive and curious, he almost jumps out of his skin with shock. When he notices the flirtatious smile spread across my face though, he gives a hearty chuckle in return. "Hey, you." Finnick whispers, brushing a strand of hair from my face and tucking it gently behind my ear. "Hey." I mumble, suddenly becoming very fatigued again, not that I was going to let that ruin this moment. "You're meant to be resting. You've got a big day coming up." He reminds me.

"Oh, and what big day is that?" I reply suggestively, the whole mischievousness of my tone ruined by a unflattering yawn. "The interview with Ceaser, of course." Finnick chuckles. "We don't want you to fall asleep on stage." I release a faint giggle.

"How much longer do I need to rest for, Finnick? I can't stay asleep forever, no matter how desirable the idea of that sounds." I mean it as a joke, but his expression suddenly turns sober and serious. "Don't say that, Annie, please." He pauses. "I am so happy to have you back with me, you know that, right?" Oh Finnick, you know me so well. You know that I have my doubts about returning to civilisation, about returning to the world at all. You know how tempted I am to crawl in to the cold yet comforting hole of isolation and depression, blocking out my surroundings and all the individuals that live in them. And you're determined not the let that happen. "I'm fine, Finnick, really. I…it's just hard, you know? I'm sure it'll get easier as time passes." I reassure him, stroking away the tears dampening his face. "It will, Annie, I promise you that." He pulls shoulders, now also trembling with sadness, my own features now sodden with tears, in to his strong, capable chest. "And I'm not going anywhere, you hear?" I nod in to him in response. We stay like this for a while, his beautiful fingers fondling my hair, my face huddled in to the delicate crook between his shoulder and neck, until Finnick gradually pulls away from the embrace. "I've already kept you up for too long. You shouldn't of woken, they told me you wouldn't. Not that I'm not glad of it." He whispers to me soothingly. "I'm going to go and get them to refill your drip, now. I can't let you be awake for any longer, it'll get us both in trouble, okay?" Finnick tries to reassure me, searching desperately for my approval. I offer a vague nod brimming with reluctance, instead. But somehow, this gesture is good enough.

Finnick re-enters the room a couple of minutes later, this time accompanied by the golden haired avox and Mags. They all look very concerned, and I am unsure as to why. This makes me panic, had I been screaming again? What had I done to create such worried expressions? But it turns out their anxiety had simply been down to the malfunction with my medical equipment. "I don't know how on _earth_ she keeps waking up, but really, it has to stop. She'll never be ready for tomorrow night if her sleep continues to be disturbed." Mags is ranting to nobody in particular. The avox girl starts to fiddle with the numerous tubes connecting my body to the medical machine, pressing a series of buttons and twiddling with the connections. "Maybe we could get them to put it back, I mean, it's evident she's unlikely to be ready…" Finnick suggests, a hint of pleading weaved in to his voice. "Absolutely no way, Finnick. I am not going to let you do this." Mags snaps back fiercely. "She needs to know, as soon as possible. The sooner we get it out of the way, the sooner the poor girl can move on." Her voice has softened a little, but still maintains that threatening edge. Before I can begin to forecast what she means by this statement, my tubes have been readjusted and I am secured back in to dormancy.


	15. The Reunion

On the morning I am awoken and prepared for my interview, I encounter the first nightmare to dictate my mind since being retrieved from the arena. It had been a relief, to be spared of those terrifying imageries, those haunting sounds. However, as I had come to realise, bliss never seems to last for long, yet pain has a good chance of doing so if its strong enough. And my own despair and sense of indescribable hurting seemed to be becoming stronger by the second.

I have a theory now that, the medication the medics has used to sedate me for the past few days, had somehow managed to create a sort of blockage in my brain, preventing my demons from leaking out and haunting my dreams. However, at some point, in order to make sure I do not become groggy, they must of lowered the dosage, and therefore they were able to manage to breakthrough that blockage, creating sinister scenes as I sleep once more. And didn't the devil come back fighting. I still don't remember an awful lot of the vision due to the fact I was still pretty deeply buried in the blankets of unconsciousness, the drugs making my head foggy and disorientated. But I was aware of enough to disturb me tremendously.

I am falling. Falling from the tree I had been perched on, stargazing and bursting berries on my tongue, a memory that shone so clear it seemed as though it had only happened hours ago. I'm soaring through the muggy air, prickling my skin with uncomfortable dots of sweat to veil the goose bumps this unpleasant thrill had caused to blanket my skin. My body embraces the water with an almighty crash, yet I cannot resurface. I am trapped under the waters face, desperately trying to hurl myself back in to reality, in to a relative amount of safety, but I am too far away to do so, because I'm still tumbling downwards at an almighty speed. At first, all is silent, as one would expect the scene to be. But then comes the yells, the cackles, the jeers. The cries and the pleading. And they don't fade, in fact they echo over and over, the monstrous melody only becoming more significant. Then come the hallucinations. Shadow is first, screaming for my assistance, puncturing the end of her performance with a cruel cackle. Then comes the girl from seven, brawny and fierce, sharpening her dagger, her only interruption when Merlin and Meeti come tumbling in to the scene, approaching me at a rapid pace, spears held high and proud, sinister grins spread across their faces. The last figure I encounter is Noah. Hand wrapped securely around a shimmering silver axe, expression stretched in to one of horror, as his out of control arms starts to mutilate his throat, blood trickling down his neckline, eyes still wide open, begging, pleading for my help, but I cant reach him and…

* * *

I awake belting out a melody of consistent screams. Propped on the end of the bed is Florrie, startled and dumbfounded by my bizarre behaviour. Standing silently in the doorway is Mags, dressed in a long velvet skirt and a saddened expression. On the other side of me, the opposite to which I am facing, I realize Finnick is present, stroking the still exposed small of my back, murmuring quiet words of comfort. "It's okay Annie…you're okay…" I fling my bare body on to him at once without thinking, causing my escort to fling a very prude look in my direction. I shyly retrieve a fine satin robe that is flung over a bunch of medical equipment. Needless to say, the numerous tubes and needles have been removed from my body, yet I have no desire to make the most of my new found freedom. Instead, I want to stay securely fitted it Finnicks lap forever, or until I was required to otherwise, anyway. "Bad dream, huh?" I nod in to his body vigorously response. He begins to stroke my hair with his gentle fingers, soothing me. This only triggers me to bury deeper into him. Tickling Florrie green with envy, I'm sure. And apparently, causing Mags great disgust. "Stop. No more of this silly business, not until the interviews are over, anyway. " The elder had stridden across the room by this point, at a rapid pace for her capability, and is trying to pull me off of him. She isn't very successful. I may still be slightly disorientated and more than a little emotionally drained, but I my strong wiliness and determination are still on top form. That, and the fact Mags is a very old, very weak lady, and really not all that much of a challenge to defeat. However, the muscular structure of Finnick is another story. I try and put up as much of a fight as I can muster as he detangles my limbs from his own, but needless to say, within seconds I was tumbling back on to the bed in a heap. "Mags right, honey. We need to get you prepared." He coos at me, as if I am an infant, distressed over the fact that I had to share my favourite toy, rather than the horrifying scenario I had just been retrieved from. Never less, I'm to needy to be angry at him. "Has Tabiotha got my dress ready?"I squeak. "Yes!" Florrie exclaims, obviously grateful for the diversion of topic. "Its absolutely gorgeous, don't you think, Mags?" Mags gives a half hearted nod, as if she was distracted by thoughts of much more importance than a piece of decorated fabric. In fact, since my return, she had seem nothing other than preoccupied and brooding. My attention is suddenly brought back to her conversation with Finnick, not even a twenty four hours ago, just as I drifting back in to sleep…I need to know what? What are the two of them keeping from me that could possibly be detrimental to my performance at the interviews? I cannot not conjure up any harmless explanation…"What's wrong Mags?" I blurt out before I can filter my thoughts. Mags, obviously startled by my tone, jumps at the question. "What did you say, darling?"

"I asked if you were alright. You seem a little distracted."

"Oh, I'm fine, sweetheart. Don't you worry about me. Just a little stressed, that's all. I'll try my best to become more of an asset to you from here onwards."

"Oh…no…no I didn't mean it like that." I jump in quickly, cautious that my concern may of seemed like an insult. "I'm just_ am_ a little worried for you, that's all." My co-mentor raises her wrinkled hand to her lips, and presses it gently on to my cheek, indicating her thanks. "That'll be the paranoia. It'll wear off soon, once you exit arena mode." She whispers in to my ear as she exits the room, the tears I spy brimming in her eyes perhaps threatening to overflow is she stayed any longer. I throw a confused look in Finnicks direction, which he responds with an oblivious shrug. "So…this dress…" I prompt.

"Yes!" Florrie claps her hands in excitement. "I am not saying a word about it! I shall not be the one to ruin the surprise! All I can say is…wow…" I turn to Finnick, who is staring intently on the blank stretch of air before him. "Do you agree?"

"Wh-what?" He replies, perplexed.

"With Florrie's opinion about the dress, duh?"

"Oh…yeah, right, the dress. Well, it's a little to…_mature _for my liking, but I have no doubt the audience will love you in it." He responds, snapping back in to reality.

"You're only saying that because no man likes to see his lady looking desirable to anyone but himself." Florrie blurts out somewhat disapprovingly. Finnick had obviously informed her of our relationship without gaining my permission first. "You told her?" I hiss at him. Finnick gives a unfazed and incredibly aggravating shrug.

"Didn't see why I shouldn't. I mean, you're still going to announce it at tonight's interview, right?" The sudden reminder of his request to announce our partnership publically suddenly hits like a ton of bricks. I haven't even made up my mind about our long term future yet, my feelings and thoughts preoccupied with much more important matters. I have no doubt in my mind that I adore Finnick, his easy-going personality, his caring nature, among many other qualities, but was I really ready to be launched in to such a intense relationship? Because that is what it would be, with chemistry and background like ours. The romance is destined to be either no more than a brief dusting, swiftly swept under the carpet and forgotten about, or a passionate, heartfelt one, possibly on-going for years, decades, maybe even forever. There couldn't be any in-between. And I don't want there to be. I yearn for the second option to happen so desperately, but can the new, broken and crazy Annie deal with such a weighty commitment?

"I don't know…I'm not really feeling all to comfortable with the idea, if I'm honest." I am not lying. Announcing my love life to the whole of Panem, was hardly appropriate not to mention respectful to the families of those whose child will never get to experience such a milestone. Because of my success in simply outliving them.

"What?! Why?" Finnick snaps, obviously wounded by my rejection, not that I'd use that particular word to describe my doubtfulness, but still, I was declining to carry out his wishes, never less. The tint of accusation weaved in to his voice angers me. "Because I want to say as little as possible! And because tonight's going to be hard enough for me, without you demanding I reveal my undying love for you to the whole nation!" My enraged speech is punctuated with a flood of fresh tears. Finnicks sympathetic expression returns, as he pulls me in to him, wiping away the warm teardrops with the cuff of his shirt. "Don't get upset about it, Ans. It was only a suggestion. Please don't cry." He pleads, beginning to sound a little choked himself. Just as I am about to waver, Florrie makes an unpleasant vomiting sound from the sidelines, followed by a patronising cackle. "Please, really? Sweet pea, sorry to break it to you, but the only reason he's so concerned about you announcing it is because _you're _the only one who doesn't seem completely sure of your, hmm what's the word, your romantic interest towards each other." I shoot a betrayed look in Finnicks direction.

"Wh…what" I hesitate, reluctant to receive his reply. "does she mean, Finnick?" I bravely proceed. Finnick raises his hands and paints a dumbfounded expression on to his face in order to indicate his innocence. "I didn't tell anyone but the rest of the team, Annie. I promise. For all I knew you, I, Florrie, Mags and Tabiotha were the only ones who knew…"

"But surely you can't of expected to keep such interesting information a secret!" Florrie interrupts, mocking Finnicks oblivion. "You _bitch_." He mumbles. "Annie I…" He begins, until I cut him off with my bitter tone. "Whatever. I've got more important things to worry about than your childish dispute." Finnick gives a solemn nod, Florrie a triumphant beam.

"Of course you have! Boys are such a bother honey, you'll realize that soon enough!" She's trying to sling her lavender tinted arm over my shoulder in a friendly manner, ignoring the fact that I am shuffling further and further in the opposite direction to avoid her touch. "I think it's time we go and see the dress now, don't you? Leave the despicable pig to think about what he has done, hmm?" She undermines. God, how I despise that woman. To shut her up though, I offer a feeble nod, and begin to follow her out of the door. "You sure you don't want me to come with you, Annie?" I give Finnick a replica of one of his own casual shoulder shrugs, the action in which causes excessive amounts of aggravation to brew inside of me. "If you want. I think Florrie would rather you didn't though." I reply matter of factly. I am partly acting so cold towards him because I'm frustrated with him for letting information about our personal lives be leaked to complete strangers, but also because I do not feel I have the energy to argue with him for any longer. I am tired. So very tired. Not physically, in that sense I am more rested than I have been in months, but mentally. I am the sort of fatigued that cannot be solved with an afternoon catnap. Drained of all optimism. Robbed of all hope. Put it anyway you like, the fact is, I have no doubt in my mind that a gloomy wave of depression has overcome me since the time of my awakening. And I'm not sure the old me, the Annie before the hit, will be strong enough to resurface.

* * *

I enter the elevator ,for the first time since my time of being crowned Victor. It is a lot stranger and more unfamiliar that I had expected, and the stony silence that stretches across the capacity doesn't make me feel anymore comfortable. You'd think my escort, the woman who was meant to be telling everyone how _fabulous_ I am, would at least make some attempt at polite conversation. Evidently though, I am only a benefit to her in her quest to make Finnick pay for his disinterest in her. Anyway, we reach the stylist headquarters within a couple of minutes and, In Florries tow, I sheepishly enter the room, to be faced with a very delighted looking Tabiotha. As soon as I take my first step in to her studio, she runs to me, entangling her body with mine. Such a comforting, pleasant response is exactly what I was searching for in Mags, and perhaps even a little from Florrie. Finnicks efforts had been sufficient enough, before the whole bombshell Florrie had just dropped in the bedroom. However I couldn't let myself dwell on such insignificant matters, not when so much was racing through my mind already. Mags is standing on the other side of the room, with her arms crossed and her curtain of silver hair drawn over her face. Florrie, obviously eager to be rid of my company, goes to join her. Leaving just Tabiotha and I at the forefront of the space, indulging in the hug until business forces us to do otherwise. "So!" My friend exclaims finally, untangling herself and placing her hands firmly on my shoulders. "I suppose you want to see your dress, hmm?" I respond with an eager nod. She leads me to the back of the room, just a few feet away from where the others are standing, to stand in front of a veiled mannequin. Then Tabiotha unmasks the dummy, revealing her latest masterpiece.

The first thing I think when she unveils the dress, is that she's gone back to her whole color coding obsession. That observation isn't at all negative or anything, in fact the dress is rather magnificent, my very own cocktail dress, covered from head to toe in a blanket of green sequins. But I can't deny the fact it didn't blow me away, not like her prior designs. That's not me being a snob or anything, it's just that the slinky, outrageously low cut number is the complete opposite to the clothes I would usually pick out for myself. So womanly, so adult and eye-catching. Very Shadow. Even more so Glimmer. I could even imagine my older sister sauntering around in this sexy apparel, but me? Shy, dull little Annie Cresta, who wouldn't say boo to a goose, more due to the fact that doing so could end in disaster, rather out of genuine consideration, but still, girls like me aren't destined to wear dresses like this. Never less, I know Tabiotha wouldn't of decided on it if it wasn't for a good reason. The flicker of apprehension that crosses her eyes conforms this. It is evident just by her body language and absence of that satisfied, yet far from arrogant, grin that plasters her face when she is pleased with her work, that she knows that her design is controversial and my reaction could go either way. I force an enthusiastic smile to dictate my lips. "It's beautiful, Tabiotha. Really, thank you so much." Tabiotha gives a slight shake of her head.

"No, it's not. I am so sorry, darling, but your team suggested that this would be the most sensible look for you, to enhance your sense of desirableness, I suppose." She gives a disheartened shrug. "Whatever sells, I guess."

"Well, I could use all the help I could get in that department, I'm have about as much sex appeal as a slug." I joke in an attempt to lighten the mood. Tabiotha gives a retiring little chuckle, even Mags frown, which still seems be surgically sewn in to her face, wavers a little. Florrie however, just scoffs impolitely. "You've got that right, sugar." How inappropriate. I mean, was there really any need for her to be so spiteful? Sensing the crimson anger starting to overcast my face, Tabiotha quickly jumps to my rescue. "I suppose you want to try it on, Annie?" I bob my head in agreement to her suggestion, fortunately giving an indication for the ever prude Florrie and the equally as unwelcome Mags, to exit the room and leave Tabiotha to dress me in peace.

* * *

I am glad that the ladies have left the room because evidently adjusting my outfit isn't destined to be as simple as it had been on previous occasions. After she zips up the back a couple of times, motioning me to turn so she can admire how the dress adapts to me frontward, an unsatisfied Tabiotha decides to throw away my last few shreds of modesty and starts to examine my upper chest. "The padding just isn't sitting right on these…they're much to small, not to mention pert." She mutters, prodding and poking at my bosom in a rather awkward manner. Of course, she is referring to the extra piles of material sealed inside the neckline of my dress, which is just one of the many negatives that come with my new outfit. Her actions are rather uncomfortable and by no means mortifying, especially seeing as the last time somebody touched me in such a way could technically been counted as assault. It's not like she's fumbling at my breasts repetitively or anything, in-between examinations she is observing the way they sit, scribbling away in her notebook, a concentrated frown spread across her forehead, but it's enough. Enough to humiliate me and cause me discomfort. Enough to bring the tension I had just been relived from to flood back in. I close my eyes so I do not have to witness her daunting observations any longer. I feel judged. Inhuman. Nothing more than a project, a canvas in which an artist displays its masterpiece. I know Tabiotha is trying to be as gentle and comforting as possible, keeping me updated on what she's discovering and planning to do, making light hearted chit chat, but it isn't enough to divert my attention. She is making a start on my waist now, apparently it is far too narrow and girl like to fill out the dress, and she is just debating whether or not to add some padding when Finnicks voice steals the little comfort I still obtained from this situation.

"Want me to fetch some from supplies?" Are the words that break my peace and usher my anxiety. Needless to say, I'm still naked. I'm standing in the centre of Tabiotha's studio, wearing nothing but a scrap of tape measure Tabiotha has stuck in line with my waist, and a horrified expression. Apart from that, I am completely exposed, and being taken in by the very last person I want to be anywhere near me right now. I don't even know why I'm so mad at him. I_ do_ know that is isn't all down to the fact word of our affair had gotten out, I'd half expected it to anyway, in fact, the scandal still seems to insignificant to even fret over. Apart from this, the only other thing I am sure of is that I cannot cope with his presence right now. "Why the hell did you let him in here?" I yell at a rather dumbfounded Tabiotha. "I didn't know it was a problem…I…" She shrugs, defeated and perplexed.

"C'mon Annie, it's not Tabiotha's fault, it's not like she knew you were angry with me." Finnick points out, being irritatingly reasonable. I release a reluctant sigh as I register the wounded expression on my stylists face. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little…I'm a little on edge. You weren't to know." I say to Tabiotha, who returns my apology with an understanding nod. "That doesn't mean you're welcome to stay." I snap coldly at Finnick, face painted with a sympathetic smile and eyes glistening with hopefulness. His expression diverts to one of an opposite nature as I finish my statement. Only for a second or two though does this look surface though, a look oozing with pain and frustration, an appearance one would associate with the heartbroken, the betrayed, until a much brighter face overcasts it once more. "That's fine by me. Tabiotha needs me to get some stuff from supplies anyway, don't you Tabiotha?"

"Um…no…no." Tabiotha replies. "I'll fetch them. You won't know what you'll be looking for um…" Her eyes dart nervously from Finnick to me. "I'll be back in a few minutes." And with that the flustered woman scurries out of the room.

For a moment, we just look at each other. Consuming one another's appearances properly for the first time in a fortnight. He looks so much ragged, so much more run down and tired than the image I had imprinted in my mind. Dark circles shadow his emerald eyes, that seems to have been drained of their spark, and his golden mane is sticking out in a eccentric manner. The shirt he is wearing crumpled and marked with some sort of food stain, which is particularly surprising as one of the adorably irritating things about Finnick is his pride. The Finnick I knew, the Finnick I was so besotted by, would never of been seen dead in a stained shirt. The Finnick I knew had been replaced with Finnick I had created with my selfishness. A sad, desperate and drained soul driven crazy by my erratic and careless antics. I want nothing more but to attempt and embrace the life back in to him, but I know that I must stand my ground in order to not secure him as a lost cause forever. If I wanted the old Finnick to return, I had to push him away in order to do so. "Leave. Now." I demand. He shakes his head. "I'll get the peacekeepers to deal with you if you don't." Still, silence. Just a disorientated look, finally punctuated with a disheartening sigh. This is the last straw. "Just fuck off, will you? Please, just leave me alone…you can't be here!" I yell, letting my unclothed body to surrender and sink to the floor, fashioning my limbs in to a secure huddle, attempting to muffle my tears with the tightness of my capacity. "Please don't shut me out, Annie, please." The pleading weaved in to his steady tone indicates he is not far from crying himself. Before I can apprehend what I am doing, I am hurling myself back upright and falling in to his open arms that are now stretched before me. For a while, we stay like this, interlocked and capitulating to our tsunami's of tears, until Finnick pulls himself away from me, instead placing his hands of my shoulders to keep me from falling down again. "It gets better, Annie, I promise."

"When? When does it get better, Finnick? Because it better be pretty darn soon…or…or…"

"Or what?" Finnick questions, and dauntingly sombre expression dictating his face.

"I don't know." I reply truthfully. "I just don't think I can cope with all this…all this…I just don't think I can do it. I can't cope."

"Yes. You can." He tells me, entwining his gaze with mine. "And you will. Because I'm not going to let you give in to them, I'm not going to let you leave me, you hear?" I nod, not knowing how else to react to his certainty. Finnick's lips turn up into a faint smile. I let him take my hand and lead me to the couch on the other side of the room, retrieving my robe from the back of it as I go to sit beside him. "I'm going to be completely honest with you here, Ans." He tells me when I have settled. "I had a faint idea gossip was being spread. And I'd be lying if I said that part of the reason I requested for you to announce our…our…well _us_, in that letter, was nothing to do with my knowledge about it." He pauses, obviously intending giving me a moment to digest his confession before quickly returning to his declaration. "But, that wasn't the only reason. And by no means the main one. In a way, it was sort of a bonus…I…want people to know about us, about what we feel for each other, Annie." A veil of crimson suddenly overcasts his face. "If you think it's too soon though, I…I understand."

"It's not that I think it's too soon Finnick." I sigh."It's just that it really is at the bottom of my list or priorities at the moment. "

"Of course." Finnick rushes, clearly embarrassed by my seemingly evident knock back. "I shouldn't of even mentioned it…it was stupid…I just…sorry, it was selfish of me."

"No, no it wasn't." I reply, taking his hands in mine. "But it brings a whole lot of complications neither of us need right now, don't you think? I mean, with my new found fame to adjust to, and your...little arrangement with the Capitol…"

"I didn't even think of that." Finnick muses.

"Exactly! See, it's just so much more hassle than it's worth."

"They can't stop me entering an exclusive relationship, it said as much on the contract they got me to sign, I mean…my work shouldn't affect your decision." He mumbles, eyes fixed on the rug laying before us. "I know. It's just one of many reasons why announcing us isn't too good of an idea right now." I explain gently, cautious not to bruise his ego anymore than I already had. Finnick nods shakily. "And what will you do if Ceaser asks anyway?"

"Laugh it off, I suppose. Tell him we're just friends." I reply. Finnick bobs his head again, his upper lip consuming his lower in a way that indicates somebody is struggling not to burst in to tears. "Finnick…I…please don't be mad at me." I beg.

"How could I be mad at you, princess?" He replies, releasing an unconvincing laugh. "Anyway, you're meant to be the one annoyed at me, remember?"

"I'm not annoyed at you. Not for the whole Florrie thing, anyway."

"I know." Finnick replies, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "But that's what you were pretending it was. I have no idea what the real reason is, though I'd be delighted to be graced with the honour of knowing it."

"So would I." I admit. "I have no idea what's wrong with me…one minute I'm angry at everyone and everything, the next I'm in floods of tears. And then I can be completely fine and the cycle starts all over again." Finnick considers my explanation for a while before replying.

"It's pretty common, you know."

"What is?"

"Mood swings. Irritably. They're just some of the side effects being a newly crowned victor brings." Hearing him say this makes me feel better. If someone who knows the games as well as Finnick can tell me that the way I am feeling is relatively normal, the chances that I have gone permanently insane lowers significantly. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's likely to subside after a while. And if it doesn't, there's pills you can take, doctors you can see…" He stops when he sees the look of dismay that has dictated my face. "But, honestly, I'm sure it won't come to that, really."

"Good." I murmur in response. "I really hope you're right."

"I am, I'm sure of it." Finnick states. "And even if I'm not, then we'll get through whatever is thrown at us, you're not alone, Annie. Not anymore." And then I see it. The spark in his dreary eyes being relit, the corners of his mouth pursing in to a pouting position. He has started to move in closer to me, and something about this scene seems to familiar, so homely and safe and wonderful, and I know what's going to happen next. However, just I have built up the courage to reunite our lips, as I am copying his actions in order to ready myself, the door slams open. Tabiotha is back, arms spilling with various styling equipment. She is too busy trying to keep the various tools in tact to realise the scene she had just interrupted, which is just as well really, as it is obvious she's feeling jittery enough about leaving us alone together, god knows how she'd react if she'd known we were about to start to embark on a steamy make out session. I don't know how all Capitol people can be so square about such matters, especially seeing as Finnick claims to allow many of them exclusive use of his body. "I managed to find a whole boxful of padding in supplies." Tabiotha explains hurriedly, as she begins to sew a bundle of the stuff in to the dresses waistline. "It seems as though you managed to find a lot more than a mere box of padding." I joke, indicating that she no longer needs to be treading on egg shells around me. The storm has passed, for now, anyway. "Oh _yes_" She giggles. "You know what I'm like, darling, when I get an image in my head, I just can't stop myself from adding to it!" Finnick and I chuckle politely in union.

"Let's see what you've got, then!" Finnick says, breaking the uncomfortable silence and beginning to stride over to the small table next to where my dress is hanging, which Tabiotha had dumped her pile of supplies on. Tabiotha waves a dismissive hand. "It's nothing special, mainly just stuff I thought the prep team would find of use. I bumped in to Roctoba on the way to supplies, she had a whole bunch of ideas of what she wanted to do to your image, most of the stuff I got is down to her request."

"Ooooh, like what?" I reply, forcing excitement to lace my tone.

"Can't tell, sorry." Tabiotha says, smiling to herself as she sews, obviously thankful that the old, eager and hopeful Annie has seemingly returned. That's another thing about Capitol citizens, even those as dear as Tabiotha, they are ridiculously easy to fool. I let out an irritated sigh, even though I could not be less bothered about what my prep team plan to do to my appearance. " You better hurry up and get my dress sorted then so I can go and find out then!" I sneak a look at Finnick, who is staring bewilderedly at the pile of equipment. All I can see from where I am still perched on the couch is a pair of curling tongs and a long black robe to cover my front whilst the prep team worked on me, a flash of green material peeking out from beneath of it. I suppose he could see more from his viewpoint, a lot more, unless Tabiotha had exaggerated the load she retrieved from the supply room. I am just about to ask him what had triggered such a bemused expression, when Tabiotha is ushering me to join her at the dressing area. In seconds, she has lowered the dress over my scruffy tangles of hair, pulled up the zip and adjusted the dress to her liking. "That's better. So much better. Rather fabulous, even."

"Thanks." I gush.

"No problem, honey. Now better get yourself along to the prep room, Roctoba assured me they'd be waiting, and as you've probably gathered by now, they're not the most patient of people."

"Yeah, somehow I got that aura from them." I look over at a Finnick, who has now pulled his gaze away from the pile of beauty products but is still portraying himself as rather puzzled. "You coming?" No response. "Finnick?

"What?" He barks at me, as if I had interrupted a pleasurable trance.

"I was just seeing if you wanted to come to prep with me." I mumble, disheartened by his aggression. "Yeah…yeah of course, honey. Just let me have a word with Tabiotha first, okay?"

"Okay." I brighten. "But _please_ don't be too long, I don't know how much I can take of hearing about the latest ongoing gossip of the_ Capitol_." I mimic the Capitols exaggerated high pitched tones as I deliver the last word of this sentence, however suddenly remembering about Tabiotha being present, and shooting her an apologetic look that is returned with a amused chuckle. I'm almost feeling a little happy. Almost feeling a little positive, allowing myself to have a little fun. Almost, but not quite.

* * *

That semi pleasant feeling subsides completely when I enter the prep room at the back of the stylist headquarters, to be faced with an array of my prep teams eager faces. Before I can even brace myself for the load, they are all speaking at once in that aggravating accent, voicing ideas and opinions, advice and compliments. It makes my ears and my head ache dreadfully, but determined to let their harmless yet increasingly irritating attitude, drive away my good mood, I just sit and nod as enthusiastically as I can, until Finnick becomes my savoir once more by entering the room, the pile of equipment and products secured in his arms.

It seems like hours until they let me take a peek at myself. "We're far from done, but you deserve a treat for being so cooperative." Silver teeth, who I should really be referring to as Vincent by now, exclaims, motioning for Ragia (tattoo face) to present the mirror she is cradling to me. I take a deep breath and prepare myself from the mediocre, feminine little girl that I expect to stare back at me. However, I could not of been less ready for the horribly familiar I am presented with. With just one glance, the shards of glass that make up the mirror blanket the floor. Once again, I am screaming. The girl in the mirror is Shadow.

* * *

**Authors Note: Sorry for such a late update! I've had a very busy couple of weeks with revision, my health and even had a bit of a social life recently so this is why! I planned for the secret Mags and Finnick are hiding to be revealed at the end of this chapter, however I felt it would be a little to long if I did this, and I had more important things to focus on, like Finnick and Annie's reunion! So yeaaaaaah. Sorry once again, just been pretty busy and have been finding it hard to concentrate recently so:)**

**Also, I'm kinda starting to despise the name of this story, it seems a little simple and blunt, and like I hadn't put much thought in to it, and if I'm honest, I hadn't. So if any of you can think of a better title or any ideas for titles please message me or let me know in your reviews. **

**Hopefully should be re-updating very soon as I've already written half of the next chapter. Thank you for reading and I hope you're all looking forward to the revelation of Finnick and Mags secret...**

**-Lauren xxxx**


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